She started to put on the cashmere coat — blue as her eyes — he’d given her for Christmas , but at his head shake , switched to her parka . At least he didn’t quibble about the cashmere scarf she wrapped around her neck . He helped her shoulder her backpack. “Can you handle it?”

She made a fist, bent her arm at the elbow . “I’m an urbanite who uses the gym . Or used to.” With it , she picked up her purse, put it on cross – body .

“Lana , you don’t need — ”

“I’m leaving my food processor, my Dutch oven , my worn exactly once Louboutin over – the – knee boots , but I’m not leaving without my purse.” Rolling her shoulders to adjust the pack, she gave him a steady, challenging stare. “Doom or no Doom, there are lines, Max . There are lines.”

“Were those the boots you walked into my office wearing — with one of my shirts?”

“Right . That makes worn twice.”

“I’ll miss them as much as you .”

It was good , she thought, good they’d made each other smile before they left their home .

–Year One (Chronicles of The One) by Nora Roberts