Alice found the Post-it on the coffeemaker when she got up Saturday morning, and it induced a surge of girlish excitement that she tried fruitlessly to squash.

Just when things were finally looking up in every other area of her life, she’d developed a new problem in the form of Griffin. Namely, all these feelings she was starting to have about him.

Ever since he’d caught her crying the other morning and been so sweet and supportive, she’d been struggling with what could only be described as a crush. It wasn’t like it was new news that Griffin was an incredibly attractive man, but recognizing that someone was attractive and actually being attracted to them were two very different things that Alice’s brain usually had no trouble compartmentalizing. What was happening to her now was definitely the latter, and she needed to cut it out immediately. The very last thing she needed was an unrequited crush on an inappropriate man.

Alice silently repeated the list of reasons she shouldn’t be having feelings for Griffin: landlord, employer, actor, not her type, not his type, and altogether too much potential for heartbreak all around. She’d been repeating it on a loop for the last several days, but so far it hadn’t done anything to dissuade her from her ill-advised preoccupation.

He was simply being friendly. Like a friend. A surprisingly good friend, but a friend nonetheless. There was no point torturing herself by reading any more into it than that.

When Griffin came home a couple hours later with an armful of grocery bags, Alice got up from the couch to help, because that was what friends and good roommates did for one another, and not at all because she wanted an excuse to be near him.

“What’d you get?” she asked, peeking into the reusable grocery bag he passed her. This one was full of his usual eggs and spinach, which gave her very little idea of his plans for dinner. Given how strict his diet was, she’d already reconciled herself to eating roasted lean meat with some sort of dire vegetable on the side.

Flashing her one of his endearing grins, he pulled a package of rib eyes and a pair of russet potatoes out of another bag. “My specialty: steaks and loaded baked potatoes.”

Alice looked at him in surprise. “Can you eat that?”

“Today’s my cheat day. I can eat what I want—within reason—and what I want is to throw a couple rib eyes on the grill and slather a baked potato with all the dairy products it can hold.”

“Nice.”

“I hope you like steak.”

“I love steak.” She almost never had it because it was too expensive for her budget, and in any case she wasn’t a good enough cook to be entrusted with a pricey cut of meat. But she was willing to bet Griffin knew how to cook the perfect steak on that fancy grill on the deck.

He dug around in a bag and came out with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia which he shoved into her hands. “That’s for you.”

Alice stared at it and then up at him. “You bought me ice cream?”

“I thought you could use a reward for facing your advisor and moving forward with your dissertation.” He took it back from her and tucked it in the freezer, along with several bags of frozen vegetables.

She felt an embarrassing rush of heat crawl up her throat and turned to fold the grocery bags that had already been emptied. “You’re going to share it with me though, right? Since it’s your cheat day.”

Griffin shook his head as he stacked four dozen eggs in the fridge. “Dessert’s too hard to come back from if I let myself slip. I learned that the hard way.”

“That sucks.”

He shrugged. “I might have one bite. And then I’ll just enjoy watching you eat the rest.”

She felt herself color again and hid it with a laugh. “That’s weird.”

“Hey, I gotta take my pleasures where I can get ’em these days.”

At five o’clock, Griffin went outside and started up the grill. Then he went to the fridge and opened two beers—one he brought to Alice on the couch and one for himself.

“Cheers,” he said, and clinked his bottle against hers. The look on his face when he took his first taste was positively orgasmic, as was the groan that followed. “God, I miss beer.”

She watched him, laughing. “Do you and your beer want to be alone?”

“No, we’re open to a threesome.” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “Shit. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I can take a joke when it’s actually a joke and not a come-on with a threat hidden behind it.”

He grimaced in embarrassment. “Just to be clear, I do not literally want to have sex with my beer. Although…” He held up his bottle and raised a speculative eyebrow. “With enough lube…”

Alice snort-laughed. “Okay, now you’re creeping me out.”

He collapsed onto the couch next to her with a bone-weary sigh. “I just miss beer so much.” He gazed at the bottle as he smoothed the label with his thumb. “I know it’s the main reason I was chubby, but god I wish I could have beer and an acting career at the same time.”

She pulled her legs up underneath her and turned toward him. “I guess there’s a lot you’ve had to give up for your job. Eating, drinking, your privacy.”

He took another swig of beer and rested the bottle on his knee. “Losing my privacy was almost as bad as giving up beer. When I was at Whole Foods today, this gaggle of teenagers followed me around the store giggling and whispering to each other. It’s hard to shop when you know someone’s watching everything you put in your cart so they can report it on Twitter later.”

“That must get old.”

He shook his head, frowning. “I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful asshole. I know how lucky I am to be doing as well as I am.” His mouth curled in a half-smile. “It’s kinda nice that people like my work enough to act like total weirdos around me when I go out in public.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back to being invisible?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sometimes. You don’t really appreciate the luxury of anonymity until you lose it.”

“I’ve seen some of the stuff people say about you online. It must creep you out to have people talking about you like that.” Alice had always been morbidly fascinated by the way people treated celebrities online. The weird possessiveness and the othering. Like they were an inanimate object instead of a real person with feelings and insecurities like everyone else.

“A little.” Griffin took another swig of beer. “Mostly I try not to look at that stuff. My Twitter mentions are insane. It’s just a never-ending stream of people calling me ‘Daddy.’” His lip twisted in revulsion. “Why?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m baffled by it too.” She shook her head as she sipped her beer.

“So gross.”

“So gross,” she agreed.

“Better prep the potatoes,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. When he was done, he carried them out to the deck, along with his beer. “You coming?” he asked Alice.

She followed him outside, and they sat on the deck chatting as Taco lounged at their feet and the sunset painted the sky a thousand different shades of orange. It was hard to believe how normal this had already come to feel. Living with Griffin, sharing his space and his meals. Talking like friends.

Alice realized with a shock that she was completely relaxed, aside from the small inconvenience of her crush on him. It was an odd sensation, not feeling on edge or on guard around him. Not having to watch what she said or worry that she might laugh too loudly or at the wrong thing. Whether he’d suddenly turn on her and take offense—or worse, decide she’d been coming on to him.

She trusted him. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she did. It wasn’t something she would have thought possible a month ago, but here she was. Completely comfortable with Griffin Beach.

If only she could stop thinking about how attractive he was.

After forty-five minutes, the alarm on Griffin’s phone trilled a series of ascending notes. “Steak time!” he announced, getting to his feet.

Alice grabbed their empty bottles and followed him into the kitchen. “Do you want another beer?” she asked as he started prepping the steaks.

He cast a longing look at the fridge. “Desperately, but I’d better not.”

She decided not to have a second beer either. Instead, she got them both tall glasses of water and carried them out to the table on the deck. Then she went back inside for silverware, plates, napkins, and fixings for the baked potatoes: butter, shredded cheese, and sour cream—aka all the dairy they could hold.

By the time she had the table set, the steaks and potatoes were coming off the grill. Griffin brought them to the table, and they sat down to their feast.

“I hope you’re ready to steak it to the limit,” he said as he carved off a bite and waved it in the air.

Alice couldn’t help laughing at his terrible wordplay. “Wow. Way to dad-joke.”

He swallowed a mouthful of steak with a blissed-out expression. “Well, I never had a dad, so I had to make my own dad jokes.”

“That’s funny,” she said as she loaded her potato with sour cream. “I didn’t have a dad around either, and I never missed the jokes.”

He winked at her as he tossed Taco a piece of steak. “You missed them. You just didn’t know you were missing them.”

Alice groaned, smiling as she cut into her steak.

Griffin wolfed down his own steak in about two minutes flat, then proceeded to make increasingly orgasmic expressions over every cheesy, sour cream-topped bite of baked potato. The more he did it, the more she laughed, and the more she laughed, the more he did it. “God, I love dairy.” He sighed happily. “You have no idea.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Alice said, and slid half her potato onto his plate.

When Griffin had cleaned both their plates, they carried everything into the kitchen and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

“Can I ask you something?” Alice ventured, feeling emboldened by their night of roommate bonding.

Griffin reached under the sink for the dishwasher detergent. “Shoot.”

She leaned back against the counter with her hands grasping the edge behind her. “Would you have come back for another year if they’d renewed LV Gen?”

He glanced at her, then away again. “No.”

“Did the network know that when they canceled it?”

Griffin got the ice cream out of the fridge and put it in Alice’s hands without meeting her eye. “It’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable.

“We’re not really supposed to talk about this stuff.”

“That’s okay. Pretend I never asked.” It was the first time Alice had ever felt like she’d crossed a line with him. She got two spoons from the drawer and held one out as a peace offering.

Griffin hesitated before accepting it. “If you’re asking if it’s my fault the show’s ending, the answer is…sort of.”

Feeling bad for bringing up what was obviously a sore subject, she peeled open the ice cream and offered it to him. He stared at it like he was trying to make up his mind whether to have some or not. After a moment he reached for it, covering her hand with his to steady the container while he carved out a spoonful of the frozen treat.

“You can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

Alice swallowed, her hand half frozen and half warmed by the contact with his. “Of course.”

He let go and shoved the spoon of ice cream into his mouth. His eyes drifted closed for a second as he savored it, then he bent and put his spoon into the open dishwasher. “Alfie quit first. He told them he wasn’t renewing his contract, no matter how much they sweetened the pot.”

Alice could have guessed as much. It had been pretty obvious for a while that Alfie was eager to be free of his contract.

Griffin leaned against the counter beside her and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His eyes were hooded as they fixed on the opposite counter. “They came to me and offered me top billing and a substantial raise to re-up.”

“And you said no?” Alice asked, stabbing the frozen ice cream with her spoon.

He nodded. “I almost said yes—for about five minutes.” His eyes found hers guiltily. “But after I turned them down, they decided to cancel it. So it’s my fault you’re about to be out of a job.”

She set the ice cream down between them and rubbed her cold hand on her jeans. “That’s not why I was asking. And it’s not your fault.”

His mouth twisted. “Sure it is. If I’d said yes, three hundred people would have a job for another year—or more.”

“They’ll get other jobs,” Alice told him. She hadn’t expected him to feel such a strong sense of responsibility. “They’ll be fine. Another show will come along and take its place. That’s how the business works.”

Griffin crossed his arms and nodded, clearly still feeling bad about it.

“Anyone would have done the same thing.” She scooped a big bite of ice cream onto her spoon and held it out to him. “You’re about to be a huge star—and I’m gonna be able to say I knew you before you were famous. How cool is that?”

A hint of a smile curved his lips as he accepted the spoon. “I’m actually pretty famous already. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Alice suppressed a shiver as he licked the spoon clean and passed it back to her. She lowered her eyes and plunged it back into the ice cream. “See?” She struggled to keep her tone light and jokey. “You’ve already got the big head to go with your superstardom. You’re ready.”

“Hey!” He nudged her arm with his elbow. “My head is normal-sized, thank you very much.”

She smiled, glad that things were back to being easy between them.

Other than all these random acts of feelings she had to be on constant guard against.

“Are you sure this isn’t bothering you?” Griffin asked, casting an anxious glance at Alice during a commercial break. She was camped at the other end of the couch working on her dissertation while he watched TV, and the last thing he wanted to do was distract her.

She looked up from her laptop and smiled. The way she was sitting, sideways with her back against the armrest and her legs crossed underneath her, he was directly in her line of sight when she lifted her head. “No, I like it. It’s the perfect white noise.”

“Okay.” He turned back to the TV. It was Easter Sunday and his only plans involved vegging in front of a baseball game. He’d never been a churchgoer, so with the candy and chocolate bunnies off-limits, Easter was just another day to him.

Alice had been camped on the couch all day in a pair of cutoff shorts, so he gathered it wasn’t a big holiday for her either.

“My working here isn’t bothering you, is it?”

He looked over at her again and lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Yeah, your quiet typing is really interfering with my sitting on my ass and watching the most boring game in the history of baseball.”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t be a dork.”

She smiled again. “Fine.”

Never in a million years would Griffin have imagined he’d actually like having a woman—or anybody for that matter—sharing his house with him. His memories of having roommates were mostly of the bad stuff: the noise, the mess, the inconvenience, the smell. Living with Alice wasn’t like that. She was considerate, clean, and quiet as a church mouse. But beyond that, there was something about having her around that made him feel…content. It was better than being alone, somehow. Even now, simply sitting beside her watching the game without talking, he felt more relaxed—happier, even—just having her nearby.

He actually liked having a roommate. Go figure.

Alice went back to her work, and Griffin turned his attention back to the game. Or he tried to, anyway. The score had been stuck at 1-0 since the first inning, and it wasn’t really holding his interest. Every few minutes he’d find himself sneaking a glance her way.

Her blonde hair was piled on her head in a messy bun, with a few wavy tendrils slipping out. She kept pushing them behind her ear, and they kept falling right back into her face. Every once in a while, she’d pause and smile to herself like she was pleased with whatever she’d written. He liked seeing that smile. It lacked her usual self-consciousness, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. It felt like he was catching a glimpse of something rare that most people who knew her never got close enough to see.

Alice looked up and caught him staring at her. “What?”

“Nothing.” He flashed the grin he used to diffuse awkward situations. “Do you want some coffee? I was thinking about making some.” He hadn’t been, but she seemed to drink a lot of coffee when she was working, so he thought she might like it.

Her face lit up. “I would love some if you’re making it.”

Griffin pushed himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “One pot of coffee, coming up.”

Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip. What was he doing creepily staring at her like that? Not cool, dude.

After he started the coffeemaker, he hung around the kitchen unloading the dishwasher and gave in to Taco’s begging by tossing him a treat. When the coffee was ready, he filled two mugs and carried them into the living room.

“Yay, coffee!” Alice set her laptop aside as he approached. “Thank you,” she said, gingerly accepting the hot mug from him and setting it on the coffee table.

“De nada.” He took his own coffee back to the other end of the couch and sank into the cushions. He didn’t really want coffee, but he also didn’t want Alice to know he’d made it just for her.

While she waited for her coffee to cool, she reached her arms overhead and stretched, arching her back. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her favorite T-shirt. He knew it was her favorite because she always wore it first after doing laundry. It was white with a cartoon of a cat passed out on the floor above the words Not Today. He could see her pink bra through the thin cotton—the same pink lace bra he’d seen hanging in the laundry room the other day. He’d tried really hard not to look at it when he’d started his load of dirty gym clothes, but he’d seen it anyway.

And now he was staring at her breasts like an asshole.

Griffin jerked his head back toward the TV and forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen for the rest of the game.

Eventually Alice shut her laptop and set it on the coffee table, but she stayed on the couch with him and watched the last twenty minutes of the game. Neither the Pirates nor the Tigers had managed to score another run since that first one. When it was over, he slid the remote toward her. “It’s your turn to pick something.”

She didn’t touch it. “Isn’t there something else you want to watch?”

“Nope. It’s all you. We can watch whatever you want.”

Hesitantly, she reached for the remote. “I’ve been kind of wanting to start This Is Us. I don’t know if you want to watch that though.”

“I’m cool with whatever.” It was one on a long list of shows Griffin had always meant to check out but had never gotten around to. With the long hours he worked, it could be hard to find time to keep up with all the shows he felt like he should watch, so he mostly didn’t bother.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Alice navigated to one of the streaming services and started up the first episode.

Griffin settled back into the couch, unable to remember the last time he’d sat around with someone else doing something as simple as watching a television show he hadn’t worked on.

By the time they’d reached the twenty-minute mark, his throat had developed a permanent lump and Alice was teary-eyed and sniffling. By the time the pilot was over she was a blubbering mess. He glanced at her and swiped at his eyes when she wasn’t looking.

“Oh my god,” she said, hitting pause before the next episode started. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was sad but I didn’t realize it would be that sad.”

Griffin cleared his throat. “It was really good though.” His voice sounded hoarse, so he quietly cleared his throat again, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Alice was too busy rubbing her eyes to pay much attention to him. “I haven’t cried like that since my mom died.”

He glanced at her sharply. That was something they had in common, in addition to their absent fathers. They were both effectively orphans. He tried to clear his throat again, but it came out more of a grunt.

Alice went into the bathroom to blow her nose and brought the whole box of tissues back with her.

“When did your mom die?” Griffin asked.

She sank back onto the couch, clutching a tissue in her hand. Her nose and eyes were bright red. “When I was thirteen.”

“Mine died almost ten years ago. Lung cancer.” It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He’d dropped out of community college to help her through her treatment, foolishly thinking she’d be fine in six months or maybe a year at most. It hadn’t occurred to him she would actually die. Not at the age of forty-four. But that’s exactly what had happened. Instead of going back to school, Griffin had left Phoenix as soon as he’d tied up her affairs, and struck out for LA to pursue acting. Everything he’d accomplished in his life had happened because of her death, but he’d give it all up—the money, the fame, the acting career—if it meant he could have her back.

Alice nodded, her eyes fixed on the wall straight ahead. “Mine was in a car accident.”

They shared a moment of silence in honor of their membership in the Dead Mom Club. Griffin wanted to ask Alice if she’d been in the car and what had happened to her after—if she’d gone to live with a relative or been put into foster care—but since she didn’t volunteer anything further, he thought she might not want to talk about it.

“You want to watch another episode?” he asked instead.

Alice nodded. “Definitely.”

“In that case I’m getting us some Gatorade,” he said, getting up. “You’d better hydrate if there’s going to be any more crying.”