The only sound in the car is my occasional sniffling. Instead of my place, Micah takes me to his. He leads me up his stairs and unlocks the door. “Give me a minute. I need to walk Cash.” He gestures to his apartment. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

He closes the door behind him, and I hear his and Cash’s footfalls on the steps. I pace around the small space. In the last two months, Micah’s slowly added furniture. A coffee table and a couple of lamps. Some blankets on the couch. A small flat-screen TV and DVD player. His queen-size bed is made in the corner. His place reminds me of him. Tidy, no fuss, smells good. I head to his bathroom to splash some water on my face. I look at his deodorant and toothpaste. Just noticing.

I turn off the bathroom light and make my way to my usual spot in the corner of his couch. I kick off my shoes and lean back, grabbing the single pillow and plopping it on my lap right as the door opens and Micah and Cash enter. Cash heads straight for me, and I’m quick to nuzzle his head, giving him lots of baby talk. He gives me the smallest lick and plops on the rug at my feet.

Micah makes his way to the sink, pulling out a couple of glasses. Without asking, he fills and carries them over, offering one to me. I take a sip, grateful, and put it down on the coffee table, on a coaster. Because Micah is the exact kind of nineteen-year-old guy who buys coasters to protect his thrift-store furniture from rings.

“Okay, so let’s back up. They want you to give an abstinence talk to your youth group girls.” A small part of me warms at how Micah refers to them as my girls. Because that’s what they are.

“Right. And I told him I wouldn’t do that. At least, not in the traditional sense, which, believe me, is exactly what Mrs. Sanderson wants. All fire and brimstone and licked Oreos.”

“Licked. Or— Wait. What?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘lick an Oreo and pass it on / would someone want it now? / that’s what having sex before marriage is like / you’re ruined for your husband’ talk.”

Micah straightens. “You’re serious.”

“Completely. You’ve never heard that?”

“No. But I stopped going to church in eighth grade. Maybe I missed it.”

“Actually, my mom told me that one. That was my sex talk. Ruined Oreos for me for a bit. Thankfully, I’ve recovered. Brought them tonight to share, even. Minus the saliva.”

“That’s … wow.”