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?”

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.”