“Gonna take lunch now,” he announces, slamming the metal door shut. “Be back in an hour.”

“Just fucking, huh?” Addison quips, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Rowan flips her off as he retreats, but his face still burns hotter than the midday sun.

THEY WALK to a café five minutes away, the sun beating down so hard that it keeps them mostly quiet to avoid expending any unnecessary energy.

As they enter the blissfully air-conditioned café, Rowan instantly dislikes it. It’s modernly decorated with quirky succulents and inoffensive, bland artwork on the tables and walls. Everything is painted in muted neutrals that wash the whole place out and give nothing interesting to focus on. There’s none of the retro coziness that he’s come to associate with Sheila’s diner across town, but it smells like basil and freshly baked bread, and he thinks it’ll be okay.

They find a table for two in the corner of the café, a mercifully secluded spot in an otherwise pretty busy restaurant. Less than a minute later, an overly chipper waitress pops by their table and hands them two laminated menus, then gives them a few minutes to look them over. Despite the bougie feeling of the café, Rowan has to admit that all the dishes look delicious. Over half the menu is vegan or vegetarian, and from the numerous pictures, everything is loaded with fresh-looking veggies.

“Jesus, they got any actual food here?” Mal grumbles as he surveys his own menu.

Rowan laughs. “How have you survived this long?”

“Fuck off, Red. I’m healthy as a clam.”

Lips pulling back into a small smile, Rowan resists the urge to once again correct Mal’s idiom in favor of teasing.

“Oh, I know. I’m plenty familiar with your stamina.”

And your six pack, he thinks. And muscular thighs and sharp hip bones and firm biceps and tight ass and….

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks, breaking Rowan out of his thoughts by placing two glasses of water in front of them.

Rowan orders a turkey-bacon and avocado wrap, which makes Mal scoff a little and mutter “Hipster…” under his breath.

Shockingly, Mal orders a salad. A buffalo chicken salad smothered in bleu cheese dressing, but there’s at least some green on his plate. Rowan wants to think he’s having some kind of positive effect on him.

With a smile, Rowan orders a piece of strawberry cheesecake for them to share.

“Your eyes are so fuckin’ green,” Mal says after a beat of silence.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Don’t mean to be a little bitch, just… never seen ’em in the sunlight before, yanno?”

Yeah. Rowan knows.

“Was thinking the same about yours earlier,” Rowan confesses, butterflies burrowing into his belly.

It all feels a little too much like a high school date for Rowan’s liking. Not that he ever really went on any of those when he was that age, his love life limited to risky hookups with the few gay or questioning guys behind the bleachers in high school.