That’s not what I expected her to say at all. My head falls back, and I stare at the fluorescent light overhead. “Everything? He quotes me statistics and silly trivia. He’s so damn smart, and that’s sexy as fuck. But at the same time, he’s got this sweet, romantic, believes-in-happily-ever-afters heart. I don’t know what to do with that!” I spin the stool around, already feeling dizzy at my whiplash thoughts, and then stop facing Holly. “He makes me want to believe too,” I confess shamefully, “but we both know how dangerous that is.”

“Is it?” Holly challenges me with a fierce look.

“Ugh. Holly, you know everything that’s happened. I told you when I tried to shoo you off.”

“Exactly. And I didn’t let it scare me away, so maybe this Blake Hale guy has some big brass balls that clang like mine do” —she hits her thighs over the apron, framing her nonexistent testicles— “and isn’t scared off by some tragic backstory you’ve created as a way to protect your fragile, wittle, hurt heart.” Holly pats her heart and pouts with puppy dog eyes.

“Ouch,” I deadpan, but that does really sting.

“Zoey,” Holly continues, giving me ‘the look’, “buckle up, babe. Sister Holly is about to lay some truth on you, and you ain’t gonna like it one bit, but you need to hear me loud and clear. You ready?”

“Honestly, no.”

Holly nods once, firmly. “Don’t matter, because here it comes. Back to the beginning . . . that Michael kid, the peanut butter allergy one? He should’ve known to ask about exposures, been his own advocate or something. Or the parents should’ve known better than to send their hyper-allergic ass of a kid off to sleepaway camp. Yes, it was a bad smooch. All people’s first kisses suck even if they don’t want to admit it, and yours was admittedly the worst of the worst. But that wasn’t your fault because you were a kid playing a game, not asking for full disclosure and STD tests before smooching.” She pauses and holds up a finger, her tone going from smackdown to educational. “FYI, you need to do that these days. Get him tested. If Blake acts put off by it, or God help him, refuses to wear a condom, you get yourself right up and see yourself out the door. If he can’t have an adult conversation about bodily functions, run. He’ll be a selfish lover, guaranteed.”

I blink, still overwhelmed by the change in direction of this conversation. “Uhm . . .”