“Was it hot?” she asks as she piles her long golden waves into a haphazard bun at the top of her head. Somehow, it always comes out perfectly messy. “Kinda sounds hot.”

“Pretty hot, yeah. Had me worried for a minute, though. I’m used to…controlled. And this was raw. Definitely the antithesis of control.” My gaze falls to the crocheted throw beneath my legs, one that Lark’s aunt made for me the year we left Ashborne Collegiate Institute, when Lark’s family took me in and repaid a debt they never owed. I stick my fingers in the little holes between the looped yarn, and when I look up again Lark is watching me, her clear blue eyes fixed to the contours of my face. “I nearly left him there.”

Lark’s head tilts. “And you feel bad about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think he would have left me if the situation was reversed.”

“But you didn’t leave.”

I shake my head.

“Why not?”

My chest aches. It does every time I remember the way he called my name like a broken prayer. The defeated slump of his shoulders is a vivid image in my mind, even now. “He seemed so vulnerable, despite what he’d just done. I couldn’t leave him like that.”

Lark’s lip twitches as though she’s holding back a smile. “That’s nice.” She nibbles at the corner of her lower lip and I roll my eyes. “It’s sweet. You stayed. You made another friend.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe a future boyfriend.”

I bark an incredulous laugh. “No.”

“Maybe a soulmate.”

“You’re my soulmate.”

“Then a best friend. With benefits.”

“Please stop.”

“I can see it now,” Lark says, her eyes sparkling as she sits up straighter, one graceful hand held aloft. She clears her throat. “He can show you the world…” she sings. “Glittering something shiny… ‘I think our love can do anything that we want it to.’”

“You did not just mash up a butchered version of Aladdin with The Notebook. You have the voice of an angel, Lark Montague, but that is atrocious.”

Lark giggles and settles back into the couch as Constantine plays on my TV, a familiar backdrop in our limited roster of comfort movies. We watch for a moment in silence as Keanu traps a spider under a glass. “He could come to my house and catch spiders any day,” she says as she twinkles her fingers toward the screen. “Dark and broody and grumpy? Sign me up.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that every one of the two hundred times we’ve watched this.”

“It’s peak Keanu. You can’t blame me.” Lark sighs and takes a fistful of popcorn from the bowl. “I’m on a dry spell. You’d think there would be some hot musician types on the road but they’re all way too emo. I just want to be tossed around a bit. Manhandled, you know? Call me a dirty little slut and I’m all for it. These cry-into-the-mic types aren’t doing it for me.”

I huff a laugh and toss a piece of popcorn in the air in a failed attempt to catch it with my mouth. “Don’t talk to me about dry spells. I’m going to need a supercomputer to calculate my days of celibacy at this rate.”

“Or—and hear me out,” Lark says with a slap to my arm when I groan. “You could take a little trip to Boston to visit your Butcher man and see about ending that dry spell. Fill that well, sister.”

“Gross.”

“Fill it up until it’s gushing. Overflowing.”

“You’re disturbing.”

“I bet he would oblige.”

“We’ve literally just been through this. We’re friends.”

“And you could be friends with extra perks. There’s no rule book to say you can’t fuck a friend and still stay friends,” Lark says. I try to ignore her and keep my eyes on the screen even though her gaze weighs like a hot veil against my cheek. When I finally look over, her teasing smile has faded into a knowing one. “But you’re scared.”

I look away again and swallow.

“I get it,” she says. Her hand folds over my wrist and she squeezes until I look at her. Lark’s smile is sunshine, and she’s always ready to share its bright light. “You’re right.”

My brow quirks. “About what?”

“That you’ll probably never meet someone like him again. That he’s probably the only one out there like you. That you could mess it up. Or he could let you down. Or that maybe your friendship could go up in flames. You’re right about all those worries that are circling around in your head. Maybe all of them are true. But maybe it shouldn’t matter, because everyone messes up. We all let each other down once in a while. And sometimes the best things come out of the fire.”

My voice is soft when I tell her a simple truth, “You’ve never let me down.”

“What if I do one day? Do you really think you wouldn’t give me the grace to correct my mistake?”

“Of course I would, Lark. I love you.”

“Then give Rowan a little grace too.”

My conflicted sigh does nothing to cleanse a sudden burst of nerves in my chest. Lark jostles my wrist until I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay. If I have a meeting in Boston, I’ll maybe see if he’s free to hang out.”

“You don’t have to have some excuse. I bet he’d love to see you. Just go. Even if it is just to be friends in person for more than once a year. You miss him, right?”

Christ, I do. I miss his faint accent and his big smile and his ever-present jokes. I miss his teasing and his warmth and how easy it is to just be myself around him, how nice it is to lay the mask aside. I miss the way he makes me feel like I’m not an aberration, but unique.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”

“Then go,” Lark says as she snuggles herself beneath the blanket and grins at Keanu. “Go and have fun. You can do that more than once annually, you know.”

We fall into silence as I think about it.

And I continue thinking about it.

…For three more months.

And now I stand huddled in the entryway of a department store across the street from 3 In Coach for longer than any sane person probably would, just watching the wait staff and the patrons as the lunch rush tapers off to a quieter hum of activity. In true stalker fashion, I’ve looked up every article about the restaurant since its opening day seven years ago. Every photograph, to the end of the Google search results. Hundreds of reviews. I even found the blueprints from the planning permit submission. I could probably walk the place blindfolded and I’ve never even been inside.

Maybe it’s time to change that.

My bottom lip slides between my teeth as I drive my hands into the pockets of my wool trench and step into the bitter bite of an unseasonably cold spring wind.

Entering the restaurant, I’m greeted by the sound of trendy yet soulless music and a blonde bombshell hostess with a sparkling smile.

“Welcome to 3 In Coach. Do you have a reservation with us today?”

A pang of nerves rolls through my stomach as I glance toward the open expanse of dark wood tables and exposed brick. “No, sorry.”

“No problem. For how many?”

“Just me.”

The woman’s gaze rakes over my hair where it’s laying across my shoulder before meeting my eyes with a chagrined smile, as though she was caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Sure thing. Right this way.”

I follow the hostess into the dining room and before I can request a specific spot, she leads me to a semi-circular booth along the back wall rather than one of the smaller tables in the center of the room. She takes the three unneeded place settings away and starts heading toward the kitchen, but a large group enters so she changes course and greets them instead.

The enormity of how stupid this is starts to seep into my veins like wriggling worms. I’ve let these unfamiliar emotions take over. Things like longing. And loneliness. It’s as though I’ve been thrown into the ocean, drowning in the swell, and suddenly I realize I could have put my feet down all along. I could have stood up and kept my bearings. It was all just my imagination.