The rest of his family wouldn’t really give him much better advice. Aubrey would probably tell him something similar to Jay, her long string of exes hardly making her a helpless romantic. His younger siblings might be worse. Clara would probably swoon a bit and say he should go after him, assuming he could get her to listen to someone else’s problems for five minutes to explain the situation. Rory would probably ask if he has any priors now that he’s turned traitor and become a full-blown cop. And Marc…? Well, Marc would probably actually give him some good advice. But he’s already had to suffer the embarrassment of asking him how to set up a Grindr profile in the past, and some wounds cut a little too deep.

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?”