He hadn’t even realized he’d started eating the lemon square that Sheila brought him when she stops by and drops off his food, the pastry nothing but crumbs on the tiny dessert plate.

“Anything else I can getcha?” she asks.

“I’m good, but… can I ask you somethin’ else, Sheila?”

She cocks one round hip against the counter, half leaning on it. “Shoot.”

“It’s kinda… personal, I guess. I wouldn’t bring it up normally, but I kinda don’t want my family to know ’cause they’d give me shit for it.”

“Family’s like that,” Sheila laughs. “You won’t find no judgment from me, honey. Whatever it is, I’ve either been through it myself or know someone who has.”

“I uh… sorta like this guy. A lot. But we’re not really… we’re friends, I guess. But I don’t know if he actually likes me back or if I’m just makin’ shit up. And if he doesn’t, I don’t wanna fuck anything up by telling him.”

He feels like a teenager asking his parents for advice on his crush, but something about the woman seems so caring and nonjudgmental that Rowan isn’t bothered by it.

“How long have ya known him?”

“Few months.”

“Hmm…,” she muses, setting her sole focus on Rowan. It’s a little unnerving being the center of attention of her small but alert hazel eyes. “How often do you see each other?”

“Usually once a week for a few hours.” He pushes the home fries around on his plate, adding, “But we text pretty much every day.”

“And do your conversations ever turn romantic, or are they strictly platonic?”

Rowan feels like he should be leaning back against a chaise lounge in a therapist’s office.

“They’re all over the place, I guess. Honestly most of the time they’re a little… uh… not-safe-for-work, if you catch my drift. But then other times it’ll be completely ordinary stuff.”

“Well, that changes everything,” she says, finally pulling up a stool from somewhere under the counter and taking a seat opposite him. “You’re sleeping with this friend?”

Rowan’s cheeks are undoubtedly as bright as the cherry-red seat cushions. “Yeah. That’s… kind of how we started becoming friends.”

Mercifully, Sheila’s soft huff of a laugh is nothing but kind. “No need to get embarrassed, honey. I’m old, not dead.”

“Sorry. I know, just… not something I make a habit of shouting off the rooftops, y’know?”

Her response is an affirmative hum.

“So you’ve been sleepin’ with this guy for a few months, developed a friendship, talk every day even if you only see each other once a week—which, keep in mind, hon, is a miracle as you get older, even at your age. And now you caught feelings but don’t know if he did too?”

The bite of omelet that Rowan had shoved in his mouth while she was talking is burning hot, but he manages to swallow with most of his taste buds intact. “That sums it up, yeah.”

“How’s the sex been? Different?”