Which is fine, for her! All I’m saying is that finding a date, or a hookup, isn’t difficult. And while I may not be getting married literally ever, I can at least secure someone to make out with me so that I can sort-of-honestly tell my dad that, yes, I am seeing someone.

Does this have the added bonus of helping me forget about Nick? Well, it’s like the ancient proverb says: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

I pull up to the curb in front of Mikey Danger’s place, step out, kick yet another beer can out of the way, and march to the door. Fred answers.

“Hey, Chloe. You here to see Milo?”

I shake my head, my body vibrating the way it always does before I do something like this. The excitement, the possibility, the way I feel confident in the outcome.

“Is Mikey here?” I ask.

Fred gives me some side-eye but steps back to let me in. “Uh, yeah. He’s in his room.”

I nod my thanks, step around the empty milk jugs on the floor, and walk toward Mikey’s room. I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and knock.

“Yeah?” comes a sleepy voice from inside.

I open the door. There are tapestries on the wall, the kind you might see in a college dorm room. Mikey’s mattress is on the floor, and he’s on top of it, watching something on his laptop. He is, unfortunately, still a babe, in that Jake Gyllenhaal let himself go the tiniest bit way.

“Mikey,” I say. “Would you like to go back to my place?”

* * *

Mikey Danger was all too happy to go back to my place, where pizza boxes aren’t used as decorations and there’s always edible food in the refrigerator. Neither of us even brought up the idea of him spending the night, so I was in bed at a perfectly reasonable hour after reading some articles for my online class.

Nick and I are opening today, which means he’s not in the back room doing Nick-stuff on the computer; instead, he’s with me, getting everything set up and preparing for the morning rush. We don’t open until 6:30, but at 6:15, as usual, Gary wanders up to the door, peering in as if he’s not sure we’ll be there, as if this isn’t our routine every morning.

I flip the sign, open the door, and step to the side to let him in. “Gary,” I ask, “why don’t you ever bring your wife in here?”

“She likes to spend her mornings at home with the ferrets,” he says. “And honestly, I feel like a fifth wheel.”

I pat him on the back. “Well, you’re never a fifth wheel here, Gary. And no one can bring in ferrets because animals aren’t allowed.”

Gary shrugs, sitting down. “Too bad. It would really liven up the place.”

“And be a health code violation,” Nick says, sliding raspberry almond bars into the baked goods case. Although we’re about to open, I got here a couple of hours ago to make the bars. I do all of my baking experiments at home, but when it comes to stuff we actually serve, I have to make it in Nick’s kitchen; speaking of health code violations, it turns out health inspectors don’t love it when you bring in random food from home kitchens. Shocking, I know.