As she sipped her latte and I chugged sweet tea like it was a college drinking game, we chatted about our classes, and then I finally made myself do it. I didn't know why it was so hard or how red my face was, but I did it.

"I met a guy," I blurted out around my straw.

Jo Ann's brows flew up. "You did? When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He . . . um, he works with me. From Colorado," I told her, feeling bad that there was a lot I had to keep secret.

She smiled as she sat back in the wicker chair, eyes glimmering with happiness. "Is he cute?"

"Cute?" I repeated, wanting to laugh as I toyed with my plastic cup. "I don't think cute is a strong enough word to describe him."

"Oh! Okay, then he's hot?"

I nodded as a small grin pulled at my lips. "Like really hot."

"Okay." She waited as she picked up her latte. "I have this feeling there's more to it. He must be a jerk then?"

"No," I admitted, glancing up at her. "He's actually nice . . . and kind of charming. He's aggressive—not in a bad, creepy way," I quickly added when Jo Ann started to frown. "I mean, he's the kind of guy that when he wants something, he lets it be known. He's not shy about that at all."

"All right." Taking a sip, she studied me. "So, he's hot and he's nice. He's a take charge kind of dude, but not in a creepy way." When I nodded, she asked, "Do you like him?"

My mouth opened, but again, I found it hard to find the right words. They were there, but there was a plug in the back of my throat.

"You like him," she teased.

I snorted. "How do you know?"

"Well, you've never mentioned a guy once to me, so that's a dead giveaway," she explained. Propping her elbow on the table between us, she rested her chin in her palm. "So, you totally like him. Just admit it. Say it. Say it for me, Ivy."

I laughed as I shook my head. "Okay. God." Letting my head fall back, I groaned. "I like him. I don't even know why, but I like him."

"You like him because apparently he's hot, nice, and charming."

"And smart," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Jo Ann giggled. "You sound like that's a bad thing."

"It is." Lifting my head, I exhaled loudly. "I don't really know him."

She stared at me, expression baffled.

"I've only known him for a couple of weeks, and yeah, I have a mad case of insta-lust when it comes to him, but in a way, we're kind of strangers." I shrugged one shoulder. "So it just feels weird."

Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. "You know, I'm probably the worst person to get relationship advice from."

"True." I laughed.

Jo Ann's eyes narrowed. "But you do know that people usually are strangers when they meet and then they get to know each other through, I don't know, dating."

"The word 'date' hasn't really come up in conversations."

"Oh." Her nose wrinkled.

"Honestly, I haven't given him a chance to even get to that point, so I don't know if he's interested in . . . dating or just hooking up. I don't even know if I'm interested in dating," I admitted. The idea terrified me because I knew what it led to. A crap ton of heartbreak.

"Then what's the problem? If you both want it, go for it. Who knows? Maybe he wants to date. Maybe you do, and it becomes something serious." Glancing at the front door as it opened, she sighed. "I need to take my own advice."

"You do."

She grinned at me.

Tugging on the straw in my tea, I took a deep breath as my heart turned over heavily. "The last . . . the last guy I dated—the only guy I've been with—he died."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Since Jo Ann knew about my foster parents' death, I decided it was best to stick with a half-truth. The three of them had died together. "He died with my parents in the car accident." I winced, mainly because that was so not how they died. "I loved him like anyone would their first crush, and I lost him."

Understanding flickered across Jo Ann's face, and I felt my cheeks warm. Talking about Shaun was never easy. "I get it," she said quietly. "You're not entirely ready to move on."

I glanced at her and then at the line of people at the counter. I really didn't see them. "It's been over three years, and I . . . I think I'm ready to move on, but does that . . ." Chest aching, I turned my gaze to her. "Is that wrong? Am I somehow betraying him? Because it kind of feels that way, you know? Like why do I get to move on and he's gone?"

"Oh, honey, that is not betraying him. I didn't know him, obviously, but if he cared for you, he wouldn't want you to never go out with another guy or fall in love again." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Moving on is the right thing to do. Deep down, you know that."

"Yeah," I whispered, and that plug had turned into a messy knot, because in that moment, when I tried to picture Shaun's face, the details were all gone. He was blurry and so far away, and that hurt. But she was right. Deep down, I did realize that. "It's just overwhelming sometimes."

"Let me ask you a question," she said, leaning forward. "Do you trust him?"

The question bounced around in my skull. I know she meant it in a different way, since she had no idea what Ren and I did for a living, but her meaning was just as important. Did I trust him with my body? Potentially with my heart and all my secrets? A hard question to answer, not because I didn't know, but because it was what my answer truly symbolized.