The lights are off in the office, except the lamp on Perry's desk. Della, who is gathering the papers he'd scattered, is briefly illuminated. A halo of light, and then shadow again.
"What do you think of our client?" he asks, suddenly needing to hear her voice.
He can hear the kindness in her reply. "I think she's lucky to have found you."
"Us," he corrects her.
He doesn't need the lamp to make out the soft smile on her lips or the way her eyes dance with promise. Her hand settles on his shoulder. His anchor.
"Us," she amends.