“Okay.” I can tell I’m smiling like crazy, but I can’t help it. I feel clumsy, alight from his words. I put the bottle down on top of the dresser and notice a pile of photographs, in disarray as if someone has carelessly dropped them there. “What are these?”

I pick up the first picture in the pile and look at it before it can cross my mind that it might be personal. It’s a woman, slim and beautiful, with long dark hair and a wide smile. She looks like someone you’d want to tell secrets to over a steaming mug of tea.

“Oh, that’s my mom,” he says, scratching the stubble on his face.

“Sorry.” I put the photograph back down on the dresser. “Are these private? I didn’t mean to look. I just—”

“It’s no big deal,” he says, picking it back up. He smiles, running a finger down the side of her glossy face. “I took these when I was home over Christmas break. I don’t get to see her much, so it’s kind of nice to have these.” He picks up another photograph, this one a German shepherd, tongue flopping out the side of its mouth. “They’re like tiny stand-ins for my family. Sometimes when I’m, like . . . lonely or stressed or whatever, I’ll talk to them. Is that corny? Sorry, that’s pretty corny.” His face turns an adorable red color. “I’ve clearly had too much whiskey if I’m telling you these things.”

“It’s not corny,” I say. “It’s sweet.” I want to reach a hand up and run it through his tousled hair, but I keep my arms firmly by my sides.

“To be honest, I miss Charlie the most.” He grins. “He’s the dog.”

“That’s my friend’s ex-boyfriend’s name, actually. Charlie. He’s a Death Eater.” I press my lips together as soon as I’ve said it because oh my god Dean is going to think I’m idiotic. He doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate a Harry Potter reference.

Luckily he laughs. “Really? Hmm, well, this Charlie is more of a shoe eater. And a furniture eater. And sometimes even his own shit.”

“Glad Hannah’s ex didn’t do that,” I say. I have to get us back on track. How do I keep leading us into the least sexy conversations of all time? I look back at the pictures. “What’s your mom like?” I just want to know everything about him, wrap myself up in the details of his life like a blanket.

“She’s a badass,” he says. “Raised my brother and me on her own.”