Nathan is wearing perfectly tight blue jeans, a red-and-blue flannel shirt open over a gray waffle-print Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His stubble has grown into a thick beard since I met him, and he seems content to leave it. His hair is a little too long, shaggy and feathered around his ears and the back of his neck. He could use a haircut.

I used to cut Adrian’s hair. I have no formal training, just some cosmetology shears from Amazon and some YouTube knowledge. But he liked me cutting his hair, liked the way I did it. Mainly because I’d do it in booty shorts and a bra so I didn’t get hair on my clothes. He’d only get a professional haircut if he had to do an interview or before a big international signing or promo event.

I shake these thoughts off, settling into my rocking chair and gesturing for Nathan to go first. “Help yourself, please.”

He forks four pancakes at once, cuts himself a thick slice of butter and spreads it on the steaming top pancake, and then the others under it. Liberal syrup. And then, oddly, he cuts his stack into pieces all at once, which makes me grin.

“What?” he asks, partway done chewing.

I shake my head and shrug, but I’m laughing. “Nothing.”

He sighs. Sets his fork down with dramatic finality. “It’s because I cut them all up first, isn’t it?”

“I’ve just never seen a grown man do it that way.”

“It’s convenient, is all.” He spears another forkful. “A little bit of cutting up front and I can eat them a lot faster. Which means I can get more sooner.”

I cackle. “A-ha! The real purpose comes out.”