“Hey,” he calls, with a bend in his voice like he’s worried. “You didn’t have to leave. I was going to make pancakes.”

In the sunlight, I can see the freckles on his nose. The chapped skin on his lips that I felt with my own. He looks kind. Normal. And I feel terrible for all the things I thought he could be.

I pick at a bubble of paint on the bench. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, like he actually wants the answer. I don’t think anyone in my entire life has ever been so wound up about whether I slept through the night.

“Yeah.” When my answer makes him smile, I smile without even meaning to, like I’m a mirror.

“What happened—it’s not—that’s not why I invited you—”

“It’s fine,” I say, replaying the part from last night when he stepped away because he didn’t trust me to stop kissing him. I watch a gull swoop in to grab an old french fry from the ground. “It’s fine.”

“I was homeless once. And no one noticed me. So I’m trying… I’m trying to notice you. But maybe I’m not…” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe I’m not doing it right.”

My nose stings. I hate that he called me homeless, like I’m already stuck this way. I’m tipping on the edge of tears and I wish Carly would come and open the door to Decadence so I’d have a reason to walk away.

“How old are you?” Adam asks.

“Nineteen.” I don’t let it snag my voice, so it comes out like truth. Eighteen is too convenient and I know I can’t pass for twenty-one. I look young for sixteen when I don’t try hard enough.

Adam studies my face like he’s testing this number—stretching to see if it breaks. “You working all day?”

“Till six.”

He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a key. “In case you want to shower on your lunch break, okay? You can have the place to yourself.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I wasn’t trying—” He looks like he’s about to cry, “I wasn’t trying to use you, okay? I wish someone had helped me. That’s all it is.” His eyes are so green.

I take the key from him. Loop the ring around my finger, squeeze it tight in my palm.

“There’s towels in the linen closet. Poke around as much as you want. Whatever you need, okay?” Adam pats my shoulder, quick and awkward. “I’ll stop by on my way home, and we’ll—we’ll see, if you want to stay again, okay?”