”Or with the right love, just one more season,” he returns her toast, drinking before continuing, thoughtfully, “it’s not the amount of time we get, Himeno. It’s to make every day count. Sounds trite, but it’s true!”

The waiter returns with their order, the plates embellished with vegetables and a light sauce, along with the fish itself. Michel takes a moment to enjoy the visual of it. If nothing else, he’s learned from his father to indulge in anything that might bring him pleasure.

Looking up at her, he picks up his fork. “And what will this day count for?”