He wishes he could blame the new wave of redness on the heat of his food.

“Yeah? Kinda…. I mean, I don’t want to call it intimate, but it’s definitely closer to that than it was before. But we don’t….” He shakes his head. She’s heard it all, he reminds himself. And he trusts that she won’t judge him for sounding like an awkward teenager. “We don’t even kiss or anything. Well, we kinda did once, but it was an accident and hasn’t happened since.” He doesn’t bring up their almost kiss on the dance floor last night. “So it all still feels a little….”

“Impersonal?”

“Yeah, exactly. And I don’t want to risk losing what we have by trying to make us become more. Especially if he doesn’t want that.”

She nods in understanding. “’Cause if he doesn’t, it’s never gonna be the same between you two.”

Rowan sighs, nodding. He is glad that Sheila gets it, even if it makes the ache in his chest throb at hearing someone else say the words out loud.

“Seems to me like you’re at a crossroads, Rowan. You have to decide if he’s worth pursuing and potentially losing completely. From the looks of it, and don’t take this the wrong way, you look like you’ve been beatin’ yourself up over this for a while now.”

The ketchup he’d doused his omelet with helps soothe the burn of her words, but only barely.

“I feel fucking stupid, is all. For wanting more. But like… I know I’ll be pissed at myself if I don’t try. There’s been all these little moments the past couple months that make me think I’m not way off track here, but I can’t gear myself up to potentially lose him.”

“My opinion? If you’re wonderin’ about it this much, he probably is too.”

Hope surges in Rowan’s chest, dampening the ache.

“You think?”

“There’s gonna be times when these things are completely one-sided, but if there’s been signs that make you think you’ve got a shot, I say trust your gut.” There’s a sparkle in her eye as she points to his plate. “Finish that first, though. You never want to confuse a gut instinct with hunger. Made that mistake with two ex-husbands.”

Rowan erupts in genuine laughter, the first time he’s done so since Mal’s birthday last night.

“Thanks, Sheila.”

She rips his bill off of her pad and slips it under the lip of his now-empty plate. “Anytime, sweets. I’m not even gonna try to fight you on this anymore,” she adds and laughs, tapping the check.

“I think Hank got enough handouts for the rest of the Campbells combined,” he tells her.

“And Rowan?” Sheila says as he stands to leave.

“Yeah?”

There’s a knowing smile on her face that has Rowan’s stomach doing preemptive somersaults.

“When you’re ready, tell him. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Mal so happy.”