He opens his sketchbook to a new page and begins helping himself to my pencil case. “I’m so glad you’re not on a date,” he declares quite cheerfully.

I can be selfless and encourage him every step of the way as he saves for his share in the studio, but for me and my goals he won’t do the same. “At some point soon, I’m going to be having a romantic candlelit dinner. At the same time, you’re going to be sitting in your very own tattoo studio writing Live Laugh Love down a girl’s back in Comic Sans.”

“That’s the most disgusting thing you could possibly say to me,” he splutters.

I try another french fry; finally, this food volcano is safe enough to eat properly. I raise my fork. His protests die and he leans forward like he is anticipating something.

This mix should be wrong. But every forkful is a prism of salt and flavor, the textures alternating between crispy and velvet. Luxe, melty macaroni blends into the gravy. Childhood flashbacks from smoky hot dog chunks.

I don’t know how long I’m in this haze. All I know is, nothing in life feels that bad when I’m eating carbs and fat. Everything will work out, because of cheese. Every time I glance up, he’s smiling at me, his cheek resting plumply on his fist. The smattering of freckles across his nose are cinnamon-sweet. I’m in a pleasurable dream. He has a white haze of light around his head.

I am possibly having a food-related stroke. I scrape up more. “What is happening to me?” I feel a wet line on my face; it’s a tear.

“My angel, that’s heaven on a plate. I told you.” He hasn’t taken a single fry or sketched a single line during my endless gorge. “When you enjoy yourself, you really do.”

I really should do some work. I dig through my supplies. “Actually, I might need that pencil back. It’s my only one. I need to be able to erase off the worksheet.”

He starts sketching with it, declining the request. “I think you need to write in ink. You know who you are. Thanks in advance for the Live Laugh Love nightmare tonight, by the way. You’re going to hear me crying through the wall.” He regards me with curiosity then bursts out laughing. “You know you’re funny as hell, right? Everything you say is so on point.”

I’m surprised and want to change the subject. “Oh thanks. So did you design all your own tattoos?”

“You think someone else designed me? You don’t recognize talent when you see it?” He’s grinning. “I drew them, Alistair did them for me. Sometimes when he was pissed off with me he’d press extra hard. So all of it was agony.” There’s truth in the joke.

“Do they all mean something?” He just smiles at that. “How many do you have?” It slips out before I can censor myself. How many girls have asked that same question? I get my answer.

“I don’t know. You can count them for me if you want.” (Insert here the predictable eyebrows, sparkling eyes, sinful smile, my heart fluttering, etc.) He unhinges his jaw to eat more fries. Chewing, he says, “Tidy girls like to be nice and organized, huh?” He reaches over for my hand and begins padding my finger up his arm. “One, two …”

I want to keep going and have to cover it up. “All seductive with your mouthful of mush. Hold me back.” It’s intensely gratifying to make him snort-laugh like that.

“Want help with the worksheet? I’ll write in all your facts. We’ll circle back to your time of birth. What was your college degree?” He’s poised and ready.

My smile fades. “My parents couldn’t afford to send me to college. I did a business administration course.”

“Must have been some wild parties.”

“It was one long orgy.” I’m lucky he wasn’t drinking because he would have sprayed me. “I was the youngest by twenty years, easily.”

“Kinky.”

I notice a woman at the bar watching us. Well, she’s watching Teddy. I guess I’ll have to get used to that, but I can’t say I’ll ever like it. “Most people were retraining for new careers. I could finally relax.” I’ve said too much there, and the memory twinges too close to a nerve. I push the plate at Teddy. “Here, eat more.”

He won’t be distracted. “Why could you relax?”

“I’m just more comfortable with older people.” I twist my fingers together as he just sits and stares at me, wanting more. “I got bullied a lot at school, obviously. But being in a class with adults I felt safe again.”

“Is that why you ended up at Providence? Elderly people can’t hurt you?” He thinks on that. “That’s not true. Renata isn’t strong enough to use a pepper grinder, but she’s also more lethal than a cage fighter. I’ve been studying her for scientific purposes.”

“My parents knew my boss, Sylvia, through the church. You know how women in the eighteen hundreds just got sent to be a governess? It was like that. I didn’t apply; they basically sent me here. I really need to work out how to repackage that for when I’m telling some guy about it on a date.”

I look over at the bar again. That girl is still watching us. I think she knows Teddy.

Teddy’s a little indignant. “You described it just fine. Why do you need to repackage anything?”

“That’s the whole point of this exercise. It’s interview prep.”

“I guess you could say that you used your connections to get the job,” he suggests. “Sounds like Sylvia is a hard-ass. She wouldn’t have taken you if you were useless.”

“I guess,” I admit. “I’m really good at my job. Please mention it when you’re talking to your dad.”

“I’m good at my job, too. My real job, not the one where I order Gucci sweat suits online in extra-extra-extra small. Can you tell Alistair? I need to think of some way to impress the shit out of him next time I see him. I haven’t exactly been involved in the business side of the studio here. Got any good ideas, Administration Angel?”

“Sounds like you’re going to have to hire and be a boss. Are you ready for that?”

He’s self-conscious. “I mean, I’m not interested in being a ‘boss,’ but I want to put together a good team.”

“Do you guys have customer accounts?” I watch as he thinks. I’ve got no real idea of what’s involved in his kind of business but I try. “If someone needed to come back multiple times to get more color done, how would you record how much they had left to pay or the quote they’d been given for the total price?”

“We just write it down in the book.”

“What about scheduling the appointment?”

“The book.”

“Payroll? Client information?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“Administration Angel recommends you impress the hell out of Alistair by getting a quote on a software package. Something that texts clients about their next appointment, things like that. Maybe the two locations can be linked together so you can see each other’s weekly takings. Something that can handle payroll and tax. He might say that the book is cheaper, but at least you made a suggestion.”

“Angel …” He sighs, and before he can finish that thought, the woman who has been watching from her stool at the bar walks up to our table. She has something to say. As she gets closer, both Teddy and I notice something at the exact same time, judging from his intake of breath.

She’s really, really pregnant.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Teddy? Teddy Prescott,” the woman says, passing her hand over her full stomach. “I’ve been looking for you for the longest time.”

His expression dials through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. He’s sighing, nodding, and mentally picking out a car seat when she erupts into cackles.

“Oh, come on. We were together six years ago. Sorry to scare you.”

He lays his head down on his arms and dies. To me, she mouths, Not sorry.

I feel like I’ve had six years shaved off my life-span. “Geez, Teddy. Learn how calendars work.”

Teddy sits up and tries to recover. “Anna. How are you? What are you doing here?” He’s staring then blinking away, fascinated and horrified by the huge drum under her skintight clothes. “Do you need us to drive you to the hospital? How many babies are in there?” He scans the floor for broken waters. His boots make scrabbling sounds on the floor.

She ticks her answers off on her fingers. “Not in labor just yet, but my husband will drive me when I am. One baby. And I’m Brianna, not Anna.”

Teddy replies, “Sorry. You know how I am with names.”

“I know how you are.” Brianna is a little sad now. As an aside to me she adds, “I never thought he’d forget my name, though. I guess some people never change.”

I begin to slide out of the booth, desperate to get away. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Thank you, but no. I just wanted to say hi.” She glances at the childish mess on our table, momentarily distracted. I know she’s estimating my age; it’s all people ever seem to do to me.

I take a stab at lightening the tense vibe. “I’m teaching Teddy how to read, the poor thing never learned.” They both let out identical quacks of amused surprise. “He’s starting a business and has sought my services.”