The morning after, Rowan wakes up half an hour before his alarm and immediately starts to worry. What did I do? All the steps that had seemed logical last night aren’t so clear-cut anymore. Everything he did to convince himself evaporates in the early morning sun like so much water. He stares at his clock, willing time to move backwards or at least freeze so that he can get his thoughts together.

It wasn’t an accident—he can admit that much. He wasn’t drunk enough to pass it off as a stupid mistake. Not that he would, of course; it would be a cowardly and terrible thing to do to a man that already has issues with self-confidence and worth.

As much as Rowan knows it’s only partly the reason, he did kind of want to help Stephen by showing him his worth. His initial plan had been to accept the dinner offer and get Stephen to open up. They were sidetracked by Jen taking them to the bar and Rowan had been terrified for a bleak moment that he was going to experience firsthand just the kind of drinking spiral Stephen was so used to playing out every night. By some miracle or chance, though, Stephen held the same drink all night and instead seemed more interested in the conversation. Rowan’s conversations, particularly. Once Rowan caught on—maybe he’s trying to stay sober for my sake—he became excited. He wondered if he could get Stephen to realize that his destructive habit wasn’t worth it. Rowan suggested dinner, however late it was and however dumb the idea, and they ended up at Stephen’s place.

That was really where his plan was supposed to end. He was only supposed to be a friend for the man—someone willing to be firm and point out his mistakes while still offering a sympathetic ear and bad jokes. It started that way, too. Their takeout and conversation were innocent enough and then Rowan spilled Stephen’s drink like an idiot and then Stephen took his shirt off and…well, one thing honestly led to another. Once they started, he half-believed that Stephen might push him away and leave him to get picked up by Jen. Rowan still isn’t sure what to think about the way things happened or the fact that Stephen looked so happy after.

If he’s being honest, it’s kind of an ego boost. Stephen wasn’t so hesitant and so withdrawn that Rowan worried he was misreading everything. After all, the man had been married to a woman before and he had a daughter. For all Rowan knows, it was something like a one-night stand or an experiment with a lonely friend. He could get nothing but a cold shoulder and forced politeness for his last weeks in the bakery. That more than anything would hurt him, he thinks—losing everything over one night.

“How hungover are you?” Jen asks when he gets into the car.

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Why do you look like you’re in pain, then? Your face is all screwed up,” Jen says, tapping his forehead tiredly.

“How long were you out?”

“Too long,” she groans, rubbing her forehead with a closed fist. “I swear my friends are bad for me.”

“It was probably good for you to get a break. I can take the front counter today if you want to work the kitchen.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Lunch tax, of course.” He smirks, watching Jen roll her eyes and then wince.

Stephen isn’t there when they show up, which is normal, but Rowan feels more anxious than usual. He can’t stop wondering what the man did after Rowan went home. Did he drink? Is he still awake or did he ever go to sleep? Questions fly through his mind but he resolves to ignore them, focusing on the shop. He’s not going to make things weird, he tells himself, especially if Stephen is nervous about it.

He doesn’t realize Stephen is in until he hears Jen talking. She says something about killer hangovers and Stephen chuckles. He doesn’t sound bad, Rowan thinks, uncertain. He realizes something with a start—what if he thinks I’m hiding from him? He panics, thinking of all the ways a miscommunication could ruin things, and then turns on one heel and throws the doors open.

It’s just too bad he didn’t think of what he was going to do, past dramatically entering the kitchen.

“What?” Jen asks, raising an eyebrow. Rowan mostly ignores her, trying to gauge how Stephen is feeling. He looks…awake. Hopefully not hungover, Rowan thinks, although he can’t really tell. He’s wearing fresh clothes, though, and seems to have shaved. Rearranged his mess of dark hair. He looks really good, actually.

“I finished,” Rowan blurts, nothing else coming into his blank mind.

“Great. What do you want, a medal?” his cousin asks wryly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Rowan grumbles half-heartedly, relief flooding his system. Stephen doesn’t seem like he’s trying to run away or avoid conversation. A good sign, right? “I was going to see if you needed help, but I guess you don’t!”

He half-yells the last part, smirking, and Jen flinches away, glaring daggers at him. She throws a few chocolate chips at him and he ducks back through the doors, smiling to himself when he hears Stephen snort. He starts to think that maybe things aren’t so bad—they’ll have to confront each other at some point about their night together but at least it seems like Stephen isn’t shying away. The man seems to be willing to treat Rowan civilly, at the very least.

Most of the day passes without incident. Rowan thinks maybe it’s a good thing he’s not working in the back with Stephen; they have time apart and he’s starting to calm down and stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. The customers come and go, Stephen stepping out to chat with regulars, and Rowan easily navigates the crowd without a second thought.

By the time quitting time rolls around, Rowan is in a good mood and decides to ride the feeling and invite Stephen out to dinner. He makes it sound casual, not wanting Stephen to worry that Rowan put too much stock in the previous night’s encounter.

But Stephen turns him down.

Rowan tries to keep a smile on his face. “Cool. I just thought you might be hungry. Another time.” He manages to turn before tightly closing his eyes in embarrassment. I’m an idiot.

“Wait, Rowan.”

Rowan forces a smile on his face and turns. “Yeah?”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’ve got a prior commitment.”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously. I,” he laughs, “I hope you don’t think I think we’re, you know...together...now...or anything.”

Stephen gives him a sweet smile. “Rowan, I mean it. In fact,” he says, as he starts to take off his apron, “come with me.”

“I don’t want to be a...third wheel or anything.”

“Not at all. I think you’ll like this place.”

Rowan feels a flutter in his stomach as he accepts.

They work together to get the bakery clean, and then head out to Stephen’s pickup.

“Where are we headed?” Rowan asks. He looks down at his clothing, still tidy thanks to his apron, but chosen for comfort and utility instead of fashion or attractiveness. He just hopes it will do.

Instead of an answer, Stephen asks a question. “Did Jen tell you how we met?” When Rowan tells him she has not, he continues. “She is probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And I’m sure you know that she gets that from your uncle. About four years ago, they brought a truckload of pastries to St. Matthew’s shelter for Christmas morning breakfast.” He paused to clear his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice wavers ever so slightly. “It was the first food I’d eaten in two days. I’d spent my last five bucks on the biggest bottle of whiskey I could afford. Nasty shit. And...I probably stank. I wasn’t staying there—had the townhouse, of course—but I stumbled in looking for something to eat. They were so...kind. No judgment. No repulsion. No pity. Just kind. Jen reminded me of my daughter. But my daughter didn’t have someone like your Uncle Robert.”

Stephen is silent again. Rowan doesn’t know what to say. He’s touched by the description of his own family, and saddened by Stephen’s confession.

“I didn’t quit drinking, as you know, but that’s when I decided to make some changes. I sobered up long enough to look for a job, and when I saw that the bakery was hiring, I jumped at the chance to work for such great people. And I started volunteering at St. Matthew’s.”

They turn a corner and the small, humble church is in front of them. Stephen parks in the lot, turns off the truck, and faces Rowan. “So this is my ‘date’ for the night. Want to join in? Or I can run you back to your place real quick.”

Rowan smiles. “It’s a date.”

* * *

Several hours later, and Rowan is back home, alone, exhausted but happy.

It wasn’t what Rowan expected, but it ended up being the best night (well, maybe second best) he’s had in awhile. The staff and clients alike were obviously fond of Stephen, greeting him with hearty handshakes and warm smiles. And it was surprisingly fun. Rowan had expected it to be sad, and while there were those moments, the staff worked hard to keep the atmosphere welcoming and friendly. Music played during dinner, games were played after, and so many pitched in for the post-dinner clean-up that the kitchen was spic-and-span in no time.

After, Rowan can’t stop thinking about Stephen. There is one scene that he can’t get out of his mind: Stephen kneeling down to joke with an elderly man in a wheelchair. The way the old fellow’s eyes lit up…

Rowan takes a hot shower, heats up some milk, and tries to read the book he brought with him from home.

Finally, finally, his exhaustion wins.

* * *

If their lust-fueled night was what convinced Rowan that he was physically attracted to Stephen, their night at the shelter is what convinces him that Stephen is the kind of man he could really see himself with...and it seems like Stephen might feel the same way. The next day at work, Stephen asks if Rowan would like to come over to watch a movie after work. They pick up tacos from the Taco Bus, an Oriole institution, and watch The Treasure of Sierra Madre together. After the movie, they start talking. Rowan is intrigued by the man, and wants to know about his childhood. Before they know it, it’s two in the morning. It’s a physically chaste night, but an emotionally intimate one.

The next day, Stephen tells Rowan casually that he’s gone two nights now without drinking.

Rowan feels his face turn pink. He’s so happy it almost hurts.

They kiss a few times during the week, the sweet, delicious kisses of two men enjoying getting to know each other. There’s a slow-burn of passion that Rowan feels building up, and every time Stephen kisses him, he’s certain the other man feels it too. But there’s no hurry. Their evenings are spent cooking together, watching favorite movies, and talking.

It’s all just surprisingly easy and fun and sweet…

...until Thursday.

An unfamiliar woman walks in—dark brown hair with a pencil stuck through it and a face that’s somehow youthful, despite the age reflected in her eyes. She seems as if she’s been through the wringer. She hangs back as other customers order, gazing at the pastries in the case as if they’ll tell her something she needs to know. By the time the shop clears out, she’s still staring at the macaroons as if they’ll reveal the answers to the universe.

“May I help you?” Rowan tries to ask as unobtrusively as possible but she still jumps a little.

“Hi. Sorry. Um—I don’t recognize you. You’re…”

“Rowan. I’m Jen’s cousin,” he explains, curious. “Are you a regular?”

“Not quite,” the woman says drily, glancing around the shop. “I’m—”

“Melissa,” Jen says shortly, appearing from the back with a clipboard in hand. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jen. Stephen here?”

Oh. OH. Rowan suddenly feels flushed—he isn’t sure how to deal with the situation. That’s his ex-wife, he realizes, heart pounding in his throat. He feels like she can tell. See everything. Suddenly, she’s not just some woman coming into the shop. She’s the woman. He feels immensely embarrassed, despite the fact that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Jen glances towards the back, giving Rowan a sideways glance. Oh, no, don’t—

“Yes. Ro, can you go update this list in the pantry? Melissa, go around back and I’ll let you in.”

Melissa thanks Jen, turning to walk out the front door, and Rowan is frozen in place. He’s still standing there a second later when Jen passes him the clipboard, mouth drawn into a line.

“Just stay quiet and out of sight, okay? Things can get a little…unpleasant.”

Oh, God. Rowan nods and slips into the back, letting Jen go first to unlock the back door. He catches Stephen’s eye on his way to the pantry, nervous. The other man looks like he wants to move closer or say something.

“Keep the door open,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Rowan to hear. Rowan pauses, nodding shortly before stepping into the pantry.

This is the last thing he wants. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop on someone else’s dirty laundry—especially the man he works with. And kind of…had sex with. And has sort of been dating. Not that he isn’t glad Stephen trusts him to be around; he just isn’t sure he wants to know the extent of the issues. What if it’s worse than I thought? He can’t help imagining all the things they could say. For all he knows, Stephen isn’t as good a father as he claims he’s trying to be. Or worse—what if he was abusive? Rowan shakes his head to try to clear the thoughts away.

The back door opens and Jen announces something about checking the front registers. A minute later, there’s a heavy silence.

“You know, part of me wondered if you’d even be here, if you were lying about keeping the job.”

“Why would I lie? I love it here,” Stephen says evenly. He sounds strained—as if he’s trying his hardest to be neutral but he still can’t help the defensiveness he feels.

“You’ve lied before. About the factory. About—”

“Melissa, please. Not now.”

“Not now? Then when? When exactly are you planning on owning up to your mistakes? It’s not hard to say you hated your job and drank like a fish to numb yourself, Stephen.”

That much I knew, Rowan thinks, a tiny drop of relief flooding his system. He feels selfish for thinking of his own desires but he’s glad that Stephen is just what he thought. Tired and sad. Not that it’s good; it’s just that Rowan knows how to deal with it. He knows how to help. If it were more…well, he probably wouldn’t try.

“Why did you come here?”

“I got a call from Aaron a couple of days ago. You know—from Derry’s. Your third stop on most nights, though I doubt you remember it.”

Rowan pauses, abandoning the salt boxes he’s counting to lean closer to the doorway. His heart is pounding. Why am I so invested in this?

“I know who Aaron is.”

“Do you even know how much you drink? He told me you were there until two-thirty in the morning. He had to walk you back home. You’re just lucky he cared enough to do it—he’s got his own life to worry about, you know—”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Stephen says, voice rising, “but that was last week. I’ve made some changes since then.”

There was a moment of silence before Melissa responded. “Right.” Her doubt was loud and clear in just that one word.

It sounds like Stephen cries out in frustration, and then footsteps echo. Rowan spins on his heel, burying himself in the shelves, trying to concentrate. Please don’t come in here, please don’t—

Stephen, it seems, is trying to take refuge in the pantry. Rowan stares hard at the label on the flour bag he’s reading, feeling like he’s burning alive. They may be several feet apart in an enormous room but he still feels the argument as if it’s taking place in his lap.

“Melissa, you don’t have a responsibility for me, remember? You gave that up,” Stephen hisses, voice low. He slams a few things around on the shelf and glances towards Rowan.

Does he want me to help him get out of this? Rowan realizes with a start. He’s almost angry at first—it’s not like Rowan has any place in the conversation to begin with. Still, he recognizes what’s happening here. Melissa coming back is just opening up old wounds over and over again, ripping them wide and pushing him back towards the habits he’s trying to change. It’s not fair to Melissa but Stephen probably needs space more than anything. Space...and me, apparently.

“I gave it up? So, it’s my fault?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Stephen, you need to stop running from your problems. You know, for a while there, I thought this job might have put you back on track. Even your drinking nights weren’t as bad—I wasn’t getting calls from your neighbor every other night about how you fell asleep on the lawn. But this—whatever it is, whatever reason you’re finding to poison yourself and our daughter now—you’re slipping. Slip any more and you’re going to fall right into a pit you won’t be able to pull yourself up from.”

The room is silent. Part of Rowan wishes the floor would swallow him whole. He manages to sneak a look at Stephen, thinking maybe he’ll see the man quietly nod and send Melissa away, but he instead catches Stephen’s gaze. He knows what’s being communicated. Help. Say something.

But what can he say?

Most of what she’s saying is true. From what Rowan’s seen of Stephen, the man has a habit of drinking frequently and heavily. He finds reasons to punish himself and chases them down with whiskey. It affects his entire life. No matter how much he loves his job at the bakery, if he doesn’t learn to love himself, Rowan knows he’s never going to be able to be a proper part of his daughter’s life. And Rowan has seen the good in him—he’s seen the desire for change. The way Stephen was so open and careful when he was sober that first night. The way he decided to not drink, even if just for a few nights. He knows, without a shadow of doubt, that Stephen is capable of being better. Maybe he needs to hear what Melissa has to say. Maybe it will make his recent changes permanent.

The moment passes and Melissa sighs tiredly. Stephen doesn’t speak.

“Help yourself. You’re the last person you have left, Stephen. I can’t help you anymore and no one else will, either. You’re going to have to help yourself.”

Melissa leaves, the back door closing carefully, and Rowan bites his tongue. He doesn’t know what to say. Do I support her? It could push him away but he needs to know she’s right. He knows he could just say something simple—I’m here for you—but that’s just as worthless as any other get-well-card phrase. He’s still fishing for something to say when Stephen starts to leave.

“Wait—” Rowan starts, unsure of what he’s going to say but knowing he needs to do something. Stephen turns to him, expression flat. It sends a shiver down Rowan’s spine. It’s like the man is wearing a mask, completely blank and cool, and there’s no trace of anything else there. Except his eyes—his eyes are disappointed. In me?

“She’s right. No one else is going to help me,” Stephen says quietly. He turns away, grabbing a container of cinnamon, and walks back out the pantry door.

It feels like a loss. Rowan isn’t sure of what’s happened; all he knows is that nothing has gone right. Somehow, he feels as if Stephen has moved six steps back and they’re further away from good than they were when they hated each other. I have to prove to him I want to help, Rowan thinks. I guess I just have to believe it first, myself.

* * *

“Am I an idiot?”

“Of course you are. What did you do now?” Lina asks, amused.

Rowan rolls his eyes at her face on his laptop, which is open on the bed. This is the first time he’s opened it since arriving in Oriole.

“I…may have…”

“Oh my—did you?! Did you fu—”

“No!” Rowan practically shouts, wincing when he remembers he’s in the guest house. “No. I mean—sort of? Yes?”

“Well, which is it?”

“God, do we have to do details?”

“Okay, fine. No details is fine. Just—was it casual or did you…make an evening of it?”

“Stephen’s a dad. A sad…drunk dad. And I was tipsy. We were both exhausted from work—what do you think?”

He hears Lina snort on the other end. He knows he’s being a bit short but he can’t help it. He’s starting to mill things over in his mind, picking apart every moment from the time he and Stephen left the bakery until he returned home and then when he did something wrong when Melissa showed up.

“How was it?”

“None of your business. And since then we’ve been spending time together, after work. I like him, Lina.”

Her face splits into a huge grin on the computer screen. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

“His ex-wife came in today.”

“Ohhh…that sounds…not fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Rowan grumbles, rubbing his forehead with a tired hand. “I mean, she was fine. Seemed nice enough. It’s just…she came in to chew him out.”

“Oh. So, she’s a harpy?”

“No. No, she seemed to actually care. And, I don’t know…she was kind of right?” He says it as if it’s a question, wincing again as if he expects to be yelled at. He doesn’t know why he feels so guilty.

“Probably. I mean, you mentioned he drinks a lot, right? She’d probably know better than anyone how messed up he is.”

“Yeah,” Rowan sighs, glad for the reassurance, “but he just…I don’t know. He kind of shut down after that.”

“Why do you think? Did she say anything specific?”

“I mean…she kind of accused him of slipping. Something like she thought the job was helping but she thinks it isn’t enough, now. And I think…Stephen tried to look to me for help. Or backup or something, I don’t know…”

“Why would he do that? You don’t know him that well, right?”

“Not really,” Rowan says, trying to mill everything around in his mind. “But he’s made an effort to not drink for the past week. He’s trying. She said something about him needing to help himself because she wouldn’t and everyone else was done trying, too. It was kind of…final. I guess she’s been coming around for awhile or something.”

“Oh, Rowan,” Lina says suddenly, realization and sadness heavy in her tone. His heart starts pounding faster.

“What?”

“He’s probably been expecting her to give up on him. He might have looked to you for help because you’re not…her, you know? You’re an outsider. A new person. Someone who has no history to judge him by. Maybe he wanted you to back him up on the fact that he’s trying.”

Rowan bites his lip, contemplating her words.

At his silence, she continues. “And then you…did whatever you did, which was sex no matter what way you put it, and that was probably something that made him think you were going to be there for him. Like, a little more than a casual bystander, you know?” Her voice is patient but there’s some sarcasm to her words.

“Oh, shit,” Rowan murmurs, throwing an arm over his head. I got it all wrong. I messed up. “I didn’t even—I mean, I was going to…”

“Look, because I know you, I know you didn’t mean for it to be a one-time thing. But because I know you, I also know you probably didn’t think much past ‘fixing the immediate problem.’ You had sex to fix him—which, by the way, is not the way to start any relationship—and when it kind of worked you forgot what the point was and didn’t stand up for him. You pretty much double-crossed him, Rowan.”

“I didn’t mean to—I mean, I know you can’t fix someone that way,” Rowan argues, frustrated, “and I didn’t plan on using it as a way to fix him—”

“Yeah, except from what you’re telling me he’s way too invested in how other people might think of him. He was probably pretty damn comfortable with you to even have sex in the first place. I mean, has he been with anyone else since his ex? No matter how easy or casual it was, he probably didn’t count on the messy feelings part of having sex. Especially since you two see each other so often. And he clearly likes you as a person.”

“Okay, so we’re both idiots, is what I’m getting,” Rowan groans. Suddenly, going back home and to his computer at work seems like a better and better idea. “Neither of us meant to mess up that way but we did. I just need to…fix it, somehow.”

“Okay—Rowan, I love you, and I love that you’re always willing to make things work. But you can’t fix someone else. You just have to show them how to fix themselves. You keep thinking the way you are and you’re just gonna end up screwing him over. Especially since you’re not going to be there for long.”

She’s right. It makes sense that Stephen would be closed off; it makes sense that he’d be too worried about other people’s opinions, especially after thinking he’d failed both Melissa and his daughter, Jordi. Hell, Rowan suspected as much in the first place. He just conveniently forgot after a drink or two. Now that he thinks about it, he regrets being so compulsive. He can’t even believe he would make things so messy—he’s usually the one sitting back and thinking about the problem. He usually takes time to get involved, even if he does.

So maybe he’s rushing a little bit because of his time frame and maybe he’s jumping to conclusions because he likes Stephen. He forgets he’s dealing with a man that has a past and needs time to recover from it. It’s just that he somehow, indescribably, really wants this to work. He wants to know what Stephen was like before, when he was younger and carefree and still unbroken. He wants to know what the man who stared at the roses looked like. How he talked. How he loved.

“Oh, Lina—”

“I know,” she says carefully, cutting him off before he can say anything. “But I need you to stop and think. I know that’s hard and any other time, I’d tell you to go for it—but I think you need to give Stephen time. Let him be open and healed enough to care about you the same way. Okay?”

“Yeah. I will,” Rowan says, rubbing at his eyes. He can’t think of what he’s going to do next or how he’s going to do it. He feels like he has the world’s biggest secret in his chest and he can’t share it with the only other person it involves.

How long could I last before letting it out? Would it even do any good?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know any of the answers to his questions and that scares him more than anything. All he does know is that he has to wait. He has to be patient and hold back because if he doesn’t, he risks being the one to push Stephen over the edge—and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

* * *

Jen drops him off in the morning, running to get a few supplies before opening, and Rowan is left at the shop to wait for Stephen. He feels something simmering in his chest the entire time—some sort of dread coupled with anticipation and nervousness. He keeps thinking about his conversation with Lina, caution and reminders piling up in the back of his mind.

“Morning.”

Rowan almost jumps when Stephen gets in, the other man cautiously moving around the shop as if he’s waiting for a mine to go off. Or maybe like he’s expecting Melissa to ambush him.

“Morning. Sleep well?” Rowan tacks the last part on without thinking, trying not to let his face show how much he regrets the trite question.

Stephen pauses, not quite looking at him. “I guess. Where’s Jen?”

“She went to pick something up from the store, I think,” Rowan offers. Oh, God, this is just as awkward as I thought it would be. He very much wants to be anywhere else in the world. Except now he knows that he can’t give up. He has to say something. “I, um, wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you to understand why I didn’t say anything. Yesterday,” Rowan tries, knowing he should be starting up the coffee machine but also knowing he needs to clear the air.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t your problem,” Stephen says evenly, turning away to start the first batch of eclairs.

“No, it was. I need you to know that I do care,” Rowan emphasizes, “and I should have said something because I know how hard you’re working, how much you actually want to change—”

“You don’t know that,” Stephen says. It’s the same tone of voice he used before, like he’s trying not to get emotional but he feels everything that’s happening with acute sensitivity.

“I do. When we went out with Jen, you had one drink and then you didn’t go to the bar that night. Then you told me you were taking time off from the bars. You seem to really want it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Wow, original,” Rowan jokes sarcastically, trying to take the edge off by smiling. “I know it’s hard. I know you feel like you ruined things with Melissa and you’re sabotaging them with Jordi. I know. But I’ve seen the decisions you’ve made this past week. And that’s all there is to it. One night at a time. Change as it happens. You don’t have to plan the next twenty years.”

It’s more than he’s ever really said before. More than I would ever try to tell someone. Except his heart is beating too fast and all he can think about is how much he wants to do this right. I want him to be better. He feels selfish for thinking it though, as if he’s saying I want him to be better for me. No matter what, he tells himself, the least he can do is help Stephen back onto his feet. Anything else is secondary.

“I messed up,” Stephen says quietly. “I expected her to give up on me, you know. Melissa.”

“I get that,” Rowan tries, “and I know you were with her for a long time, right?”

“I was. But that’s not even it. I just…she kept looking after me, even after she didn’t need to anymore. For her to just give up…”

“I don’t think she will,” Rowan says, thinking. Should I? Is it too much? He tries to approach it as carefully as possible. “But…maybe it’s good that she’s done. Maybe you need space from her—from what you went through—to heal. From what I saw, it seems like she brings up the past for you. And it may not be on purpose but it isn’t helping.”

“I screwed up in the past,” Stephen reminds him, even though he looks a little less miserable.

“Yeah. But going back isn’t going to help anything. You need to focus on moving forward. On now.”

He’s not sure if he gets through to the man but for the rest of the day, Stephen doesn’t seem as downtrodden as he did before. Maybe this can work. Maybe.