“I’m not sure. With everything that happened, it just felt like we were too far gone. And after my dad, I didn’t think I deserved love anymore.”

“Does that mean you think you deserve it now? Because you do.”

I don’t answer, partly because I don’t want to and partly because I can’t. Thankfully, Maggie accepts my silence.

“Man,” she says a few seconds later, “full disclosure, after hearing all that, there’s no way I’m not getting my own s’more in a jar. Let’s do this thing.”

I let out a chuckle as the tension breaks, breathing easier as we finally enter the restaurant. We’re early enough to be seated right away without a reservation and we follow the friendly hostess to a table near the retractable window wall in front. The ambiance is warm and bright with pristine white tiles and reclaimed wood accents.

We settle into our seats and accept our menus, but I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going with scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast and, apparently, my very own s’more.

Maggie seems as prepared as I am as she sets her menu in her lap. “So, where do you two go from here? What were you talking about before when you mentioned last night?”

A warning bell rings out in my head, wordlessly shaming me as I remember the kiss that didn’t happen.

“It was dumb. Ryan and I had a moment and we almost kissed, but thankfully we didn’t.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie asks. “Why wasn’t that the first thing that came out of your mouth?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. Nothing happened and I’m glad it didn’t because Ryan and I are over.”

Maggie gives me an unsatisfied huff as she sits back in her seat. “I reject that statement. The way you just told me that story, which, by the way, makes me want to go home and sing “Drivers License” in full voice while wrapped in a blanket, one hundred percent proves how not over you and Ryan are.”

“Yes, we are,” I insist. “Sam says I should use him to finish my novel. She thinks he’s my muse.”

“And is he?”

Knowing the truth but not wanting to say it, I look away to glance around the restaurant. It’s beginning to fill up now. It seems like no one can resist the siren song of brunch on a sunny Sunday in Manhattan.

I turn back to Maggie with a sluggish breath. “Both times I’ve seen Ryan, I’ve gone on a writing bender. I don’t know why but he just gets something going in me.”

“You mean like your raging teenage hormones?”

“Yes, thank you. That’s very helpful.”