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It always came down to money or love, and as far as Meg was concerned, she’d take love any day. Maybe she was a romantic–well, definitely, she was a romantic–but Meg believed the things people said about money not keeping you warm at night, and money not bringing happiness, and even, describing money as the root of all evil.

Then John made a killing when the little start-up he’d been nurturing–with a tremendous amount of love and all the money they’d ever been able to save–went public. And suddenly, Meg understood that money could keep you warm on those cold San Francisco night, as long as you invested some of it in a comforter made out of some sustainable substance that had been proven to be more warming–and more expensive–than goose down. And it would take almost nothing for Meg to admit that eating in fancy restaurants–not that any restaurant in San Francisco was actually fancy, they only priced their entrees that way–and drinking excellent wine, and slipping off the Napa for spa weekends–only a Californian could have come up with the idea of charging people exorbitant amounts of money to wallow in mud–did indeed make her happy. And as for the part about money being the root of all evil, well, Meg had decided that was all hogwash right up until John told her he was taking a portion of theirs and going on an indefinite silent retreat in India.