I look up, startled. I didn’t realize he could hear us, and for a beat I’m panicked because I mentioned Mom’s chemo. But Oliver doesn’t look even a little surprised. Either he didn’t hear that part, or Lola’s already told him and he knows he’s not allowed to ask me about it.

I wonder if he’s told Finn. But if he has, wouldn’t Finn ask me about it?

“Statistical analysis and data reconfiguration,” I lie, playing along. “What’s Finn doing in L.A. anyway?”

“Dunno,” he says, and I love the way his accent puts an “r” sound at the end of every word ending in a vowel. He frowns. “He’s not really talking about what he’s doing here at all. Finn’s always been that mysterious broody type, but I don’t know. Quite secretive, really.”

I nearly high-five myself, knowing now that I know something Oliver doesn’t. Oliver knows Finn better than almost anyone. We’ve talked about his job and his family a little, but Bedroom Finn’s history is an absolute mystery to me, and the more I want to see him, the more I hate the idea of him with hordes of girls, doing what we did at Oliver’s house, and on my couch... acts that had left me feeling like my view of sex and intimacy had been wiped clean of a cloudy film I hadn’t even known was there.

And now here we are, alone in the store without the man himself. No way am I going to miss this opportunity to dig.

“So you don’t know what Finn is up to down here for a few weeks”—I decide to start slowly, keeping it about professional things—“but it seems like he’s the one basically in charge of his entire family business?”

Oliver nods. “His mum died when he was twelve, right? Then a few years later his dad had a heart attack and a stroke, so Finn’s running the ship. Literally.”

“That must make it pretty hard to date.” Oops. My slow-and-subtle plan crashes and burns.

Lola snorts next to me, flipping the page in her comic book without looking up, and Oliver gives me a dubious glance.

“I know Finn would tell me anything,” I assure him. “If I asked.”

Oliver studies me for a moment, running his finger under his lower lip. “So just ask him, then.”

“I don’t want him to know I want to know,” I say, wearing my Captain Obvious expression. “Duh, Oliver.”

Laughing, he says, “You two are messed up.”

“Oh, because we are the only ones with secrets?” I tilt my gaze to Lola, still reading obliviously beside me.

Oliver gives me the touché face, and says, “Fair enough.”

He’s all but admitted out loud he has a thing for Lola! I—am—giddy!