Joy swallows, steeling herself so she can keep going. “The things that I said, I’ve been practicing saying them for years. They don’t really bother me at all anymore. It’s a script—those things about me are true, but they’re also safe. I can say them because I have a general idea of how people will react and how I can steer the conversation as needed.

“I didn’t want to be mad at Summer, but it was happening. And I didn’t want Malcolm to be mad at me for being mad at Summer. She made a mistake, and so I ran with it to diffuse the situation for all of us. I know not everyone had to learn how to cope like that and are more, um, modest. I’m sorry.”

Fox inhales, chest rising and then falling. When he turns to her, he’s frowning. “Yeah, I thought I could fake my way through that. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Huh? “What? What do you mean?” she asks. “Earlier. We were talking about sexual tension and chemistry. I made the conversation take a turn, you got upset, and it’s all my fault?”

Fox’s laugh gets stuck in his nose—not quite a snort, but close. He even has to turn away for a second. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Oh,” she says, leaving her lips in a thoughtful pucker. “Then what’s wrong?”

He turns his entire body to face her, resting his arm on the top of the swing. The movement rocks them backward, making them sway gently. “Joy,” he says, leaning closer. “Thank you for not getting mad at Summer. And it’s very sweet that you’re worried about me, but I’m fine.”

Joy wishes she could believe the soft expression in his eyes, but there’s something else there, drawing her in and trying to show her the truth. “Are you lying? I feel like you’re lying.”

“Do you always do that? Just say whatever you’re thinking? You think a thought and it has to be said.”

She shakes her head. “I like cutting to the chase. If I wanna know something I ask. If I have something worth saying I say it. Life’s too short and I’m too old to hold back.”

“Then why haven’t you told Malcolm you want to be more than friends?”

“That’s different.” Joy sighs. “Asking if you’re lying affects nothing whereas saying that to Malcolm could potentially shift the entire course of my life. Do you see the imbalance there?”

He goes quiet again, eyes downcast and focused on the stretch of wood between them. “I think that’s your problem. He’s used to you being open and not holding back. I’m just guessing here, but if you had something to tell him, he would expect you to tell him.”