“You read my mind.” She said it in a light tone, but she couldn’t ignore the flutter within her ribcage. The connections forming between them today were adding up, and it was like they both knew they were nearing a tipping point.

The employee said the total and Lauren put a hand on Andrew’s sternum. His heart pounded underneath her palm. “You. Go wash your hands. I’ve got this.”

“What? No way.” He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

She gave his chest a light shove. “I insist. You just touched all sorts of things that had grubby little hands on them, and with your white count where it is, you have to go wash your hands right this second. I’m ashamed I didn’t mention it on the way out.”

Andrew didn’t budge.

“Andrew Nathan Bishop, so help me God, I’ll make a scene if I have to.”

“I’d listen to her, man,” said the shop employee. He eyed Lauren warily, like she was a bomb that might explode at any minute.

Andrew lifted his hands in surrender and backed up two steps before turning around. “So damn bossy,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“I meant you to.”

She let out a laugh as he disappeared into the bathroom. Lauren paid and sat in a bright yellow booth along the wall. They were the only customers, which wasn’t surprising given the time of day.

When Andrew returned and the decadent sundae was between them, he confronted the elephant in the room. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lauren sighed deeply. “I can’t.”

He frowned. “It’s not a HIPAA violation, is it?”

She rubbed her lips together. “It sort of feels like it. Even though you’re a volunteer there now, you didn’t know him before… I just don’t know.”

“I get it,” Andrew said. He scratched at his jaw. “Is there any way to, I don’t know, talk about it in general terms? That might still help.”

She dipped her pink spoon into the ice cream and took a bite before she replied. “As I’m sure you know, there’s a fair amount of loss in my line of work.”

Andrew nodded, and for a second she wondered if she should continue. Andrew had his own diagnosis to worry about…should she be talking about people dying of cancer?

As if he could read her mind, he said, “Keep going. Don’t tiptoe around what happened just because of my situation. I want to know.” He leaned forward, his chest touching the table between them. The booth seemed tiny with his large body across from her. “I want to know everything about you.”