Noelle conceded that they might be uneven in the sharing of personal secrets department. “No one cuts their parents off lightly, and I don’t think we’re put on this Earth to spend time with people who are shitty to us, just because we’re kin. I wish I’d reconciled with mine, maybe, but I don’t know what I would have done differently. I still would have gotten sober, still would have drawn boundaries. I definitely shouldn’t tell other people what to do about their parents, which I was doing, by the way, because I’m nosy. I’m sorry about that.”

“Honestly, I’ve been hoping all my life that someone would tell me what to do about my parents.” Miriam laughed a little caustically.

Noelle tried to figure out how to explain something she rarely talked about with anyone. “Sometimes I wish I had more time, or more closure, just because I’ve spent so much time since they died trying to prove them wrong or prove that I’m not them. If they were here, I might be able to just live, instead of reacting to them.”

“What do you mean?” Miriam had scooted up onto the counter and was leaning forward, listening.

“My parents did a lot of promising they would do things, be places, then not following through, because they were drunk, and that’s what drunks do.” Noelle kept spreading jam on pastry, so she didn’t have to look at Miriam.

“And that’s why you try to always show up for people?” Miriam guessed.

“I think so. And maybe part of me thinks I just wasn’t a good enough daughter, but if I can be perfect for everyone else, I won’t get left again.” This was incredibly uncomfortable to admit. Could they go back to talking about Miriam’s problems, now?

Miriam hopped down off the counter, brushing her hands on her apron, leaving big streaks of flour. “Thank you for telling me that. You seem so stable. It’s nice to know you’re a mess, too, in some ways. I like messy you. She’s pretty great.” Miriam smiled shyly.

Noelle looked down into her face, trying to receive the gift of those words. She was a mess, and she was always trying to hide it. Could Miriam actually like her messy side? The idea of someone seeing her poorly repaired cracks and still wanting to kiss her was…nearly irresistible.

Miriam Blum made her want dangerous things.

She shook her head, trying to stop from building castles in the sky, populated by princesses with giant hair. Miriam might be alluringly supportive in this middle-of-the-night tête-à-tête, but that didn’t mean Noelle needed to dump all her baggage on the woman (and then kiss her in the middle of Mrs. Matthews’s kitchen).

“How long do these take to bake?” Noelle asked, to distract herself.