“Going out for lunch all by yourself?” Kristen asked. “What, you don’t have a best friend anymore?” She put her arms on the table and glared at me.

“Since you haven’t had time to go out for lunch in four years, how was I to know today was going to be different?” I put my phone away. “And I sort of got stood up, so thanks for keeping me from looking like a social outcast.”

Kristen rolled her eyes. “Going out to eat by yourself doesn’t mean you don’t have friends. It just means you’re eating by yourself, something people do every freaking day in their houses, so why is it different to do it in a restaurant?”

I didn’t know, but it was. I also didn’t feel like arguing with her. “I was looking at the weather. It looks nice for the next few days, but it’s almost October, so that’s bound to change in a heartbeat. How many more crème brûlée Sundays do we have left? Two? Three, tops? Um, what’s the matter?”

Because Kristen had an odd expression on her face. One that looked a lot like the one I’d seen on my own face after a long-ago picnic when I’d eaten deviled eggs that had sat out in the sun too long.

“Are you okay?” I asked, because she wasn’t saying anything.

“Fine. It’s just . . .” She stopped and looked at me with what looked like, but couldn’t possibly have been, embarrassment. Kristen didn’t embarrass. The last time she’d blushed about anything had been never. “It’s just . . . well . . . is it okay if we have something else? Because I don’t think I’m up to cooking crème brûlée, is all.”

Not up to it? That made no sense whatsoever. “Of course it’s okay,” I said. “We only got stuck on crème brûlée because—” But I couldn’t remember why. “Of course it’s okay,” I said again. “Anything you want.”

“Okay. Great.” She sighed with what looked like relief. Which was also strange, because if she’d really thought I’d be angry about a change in the dessert menu, there was something truly wrong.

“Kristen,” I started, but she glanced at the wall clock and leapt to her feet.

“Sorry, I need to get going. We’ll catch up Sunday, right? Right.”

Rushing out, she almost barreled right into a woman a few years older than myself, who waved at me and said, “Hey, Minnie!”

It took me a beat to recognize Heather, because she was wearing jeans and a fleece sweatshirt and not the pastel-colored scrubs she wore at Lakeview. “Are you eating in? Come sit with me.”