Nick narrows his eyes. “Did you do my laundry?”

“No.” I look around the room, desperate for something to look at that isn’t Nick’s face or Nick’s body or . . . Nick. “You were doing a bad job of it, and I knew it was gonna stain, so I took care of it. It took me, like, five minutes.”

Nick shakes his head, looks at his computer, looks back at me. “That was really nice of you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Yeah, well, stop being so bad at stain removal and I won’t have to.”

In a low voice, Nick says, “You know I’m not another person you have to take care of, Chloe.”

My heartbeat speeds up, like I’ve been caught doing something but I don’t even know what. It’s like Nick is looking into my soul and seeing something that I could be disclosing to a therapist if I had the time to go to a therapist. I feel like he’s seeing me naked, and I certainly don’t want him to.

I grab another roll of paper towels and chuck it at him before turning on my heels.

“What the hell? Stop throwing paper towels at me!” he shouts as I run out the door.

A woman stops me as I speed-walk toward the counter. “Um, sorry, but I wanted to let you know that there’s . . . something? In the bathroom sink?”

“Oh, thank you, there was a hot chocolate incident,” I say, patting her on the arm. “But you’re a dear for letting me know.”

She stares at me, confused, until I give her a firm smile that convinces her to turn around.

Back at the register, I’m flustered. I make a customer a hazelnut mocha when she asked for a hazelnut latte and I’m forced to remake it. The rush finally dies down and we get into the slow rhythm I love so much—a regular occasionally coming up for a refill, plenty of time to restock the baked goods case, Tobin sweeping up—and that’s when I see that I have a text from Tracey.

See you tonight! Hannah made peanut butter paprika cookies so I brought some in for you!

Right. I’m visiting Dad tonight and Tracey and I made plans to get together first. Whereas we used to catch up at places like restaurants, now we’re both so busy (her with married life and her wife’s attempts at getting pregnant, me with . . . well, everything) that our only chance to actually talk is on my visits to my dad. About once every couple of weeks, Tracey and I find time to sit down and fill each other in on our lives. Her wife is an avid baker (clearly, she has a type) so usually she brings in something from Hannah and I bring in something I’ve been experimenting on and we do a trade, baker to baker. It’s one of the high points of my week, especially now that Annie’s rarely in town and I don’t have a lot of other socialization.