Best to stick to the technical details. “It already had ventilation, because someone started to turn this into a restroom at some point. So that’s my fan going outside. Shelves below the desk for all my pans. Tools here. And I’ve kind of got things divided into a dry side here, and a wet side here, for my chemicals, see?”

“Looks dangerous.”

“Only if you stick your face in it, so don’t do that.” I flip on the safelight bulb that’s installed in the overhead socket, and the closet glows red. “Ta-da! That’s what I use when I’m developing. Magic.”

“Whoa,” he says, turning his head to look around. His red shirt blends in with the walls. “It’s like we’re in a strip club.”

“Uh …”

“Obviously I’ve never been in a strip club.”

“Makes two of us. Does Beauty even have one?”

He snorts. “We still have strict bathing suit laws on the books. Technically, I think the town has the right to put you on trial for being a witch if you show your stomach on a public beach.”

“Beauty, Where Modern is Just a Word We Use for Our Furniture.”

“Beauty, Where IKEA is a Little Too Progressive,” he says.

I chuckle and try another one. “Beauty, Where Tabasco Sauce is Sort of Unnecessary, Really?”

Then he says: “I’ve been one of your anonymous Photo Funder subscribers since you started the account.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, lashes covering eyes that stare at the floor between us. “I wanted to, but I was worried you’d think it was weird. Especially after what Adrian said about nudes at the party and him flashing that pic of your mom.”

My brain tries to make sense of it. “I started that account last summer. I was living in …” Where? I can’t even remember where Mom and I were. “Massachusetts.”

“Your grandmother told me about it.”

I stare at his shirt, the color of it disappearing in the safelight’s eerie glow. My pulse swishes inside my temples so loudly that I can’t think straight. “She told you about my photography subscription account? You’ve been following me online for … a year?”

“Well, your photos. You don’t really say anything personal—just the photo descriptions. You don’t even have a recent selfie posted, so it’s not like I’ve been spying on you.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about the fact that you’ve been there all this time and haven’t said anything to me. This whole time? We could have been talking all this time? Why didn’t you say anything?”