So are you going to tell me why Jackson Wirth was at your house for three hours last night?” Abby leans her hips against the counter, pale morning light streaming in the window behind her.

“I thought you came in for coffee,” I protest, lifting up her flat white. She reaches for it but I hold it hostage, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

Last night Abby found Jackson and me sitting in the Aroindack chairs that Gayle bought even though they look better than they feel, drinking hot chocolate, watching the stars, and discussing lube. As you do.

She’d been quiet when she’d curled her sleeping son into her arms and part of me hoped that her silence meant she’d accepted whatever it was that was going on. I should have known she’d give me the third degree.

Maybe she’ll let me change the subject. “How was your date last night?”

Abby tries to keep a straight face but a small smile plays over her features. “We’re not here to talk about me.” She gestures for the coffee. “Come on, Nat. Hand me my drink and spill.”

I sigh, finally relinquishing her cup. “I wish I knew why he was there that long, too.” I don’t mention the four hours he spent at my house before that. I definitely don’t mention the porn.

Abby makes a face at me and I sigh. “Listen, he came to me after he found out about the business and wanted to work together.”

“What?” She takes a step back from the counter. “I thought this was your thing.”

“It is,” I assure her, shuffling a pile of napkins. “We have a contract in place and he’s going to help with marketing stuff. It’s my business and my money.” I pause, swallowing the lump of guilt in my throat. I don’t love that I lied to my dad about how I plan to use the money, but technically it is in my bank account now. “Jackson’s helping me through the launch and he’ll get a cut of the profits. This is purely a business decision.”

“Mhmm.” I can tell Abby doesn’t believe me. “Please be careful, babe. I don’t want you to get burned.”

I don’t ask her if I’m being stupid because the look on her face tells me all I need to know.

Today I can’t worry about it, though, because Penchant is taking the next step. I know which lube I’m going to buy to get this company off the ground. After work I plan to send a purchase order out into the world. And, yeah, Jackson’s going to be there.

When he finally arrives at the guesthouse, he comes bearing gifts.

“What’s this?” I ask, accepting the wrapped package he thrusts into my hands as he steps through the door.

“Open it.”

I pull out two coffee mugs, one etched with the word Penis and the other spelling out Vagina. They’re like His and Hers mugs, but dirty. I’m strangely touched.

“Don’t read into it too much,” Jackson says, as I burst into laughter. “I’m just offsetting the cost of all the coffee I’m drinking.”

“And beer,” I point out.

“And beer.”

A million years ago Jackson used to bring me gifts from Wirth & Sons when he thought they might amuse me. I’d been surprised by his first gift, a tiny snow globe of the Boston skyline that he dropped into my lap. He’d liked my shock, and kept trying to surprise me.

“Not such a bastard after all, am I?” he’d asked me, clearly pleased by my reaction.

“I never said you were. I don’t make a policy of hanging out with bastards.”

He’d smiled so much his eyes crinkled up and my body flushed. After that Jackson kept trying to one-up his last gift. Sometimes he brought me gag gifts and sometimes he brought me forgotten things that were made more lovely because he had found them—a spoon embossed with the words “cereal killer,” a garden gnome missing his left arm. Jackson had painted the stump of the arm a bloody red.

The best gift of all, though, was the blank journal he delivered to me right before junior prom. He wrote a note in the pages, just for me, but not in the front. He’d tucked it in the middle of the book, where I found it a few weeks later.

“You’re halfway through,” he’d written. “Keep going.”

God, how could I not love him?

“Thank you,” I say now, clutching the mugs to my chest.

“Are you ready?”

“You tell me.” I lead him to my computer where I’ve got a purchase order queued up. Jackson leans over the computer, scanning the document. “Everything look right?” I ask, and he nods.

“All you need to do is send it,” he says. “And send over the wire transfer.”

A knot forms in my stomach and prickles of heat race over my chest. It’s one thing to type up an order for twenty-five hundred bottles of silicone personal lubricant, and it’s quite another to send it. And paying for that order with my dad’s school money? That’s a whole other beast.

If I do this, my safety net is gone. If I do this, there is no backup plan, no last chance to go back to school. I can’t even count on my dad’s forgiveness. Just a lot of lube.

I shake my head. No, it’s more than just a lot of lube. If I do this, I’m buying into my future. I’m buying into a business and into a schedule that lets me write and follow my dreams.

Last night I got the tiniest taste of that future life. I hadn’t been able to sleep so I stayed up and wrote a little. I intended to work on my novel, but when I sat down that story didn’t feel like me anymore. Instead I dashed off a few hopeful lines about Penchant. Writing felt good, like the first day of lifting weights after a month off. I went to bed tired but happy. And if I can have that feeling every day, if I can have a life where I’m carving out time to be creative, then that’s what I’m here for. If I send this order, I’m gambling on myself.

“Okay,” I tell Jackson, and I send the purchase order.

“Okay,” he tells me and squeezes my hand.

I push my chair back with elation. I really did it. Natalie Bloom and Delilah Overbrook are both badasses. I can’t keep the smile off my face.

“You know,” Jackson says, watching me pack up my computer, “I’m working tonight. But you should come to Hooligans. Let me buy you a drink.”

If I go, it will be the first time I’ll be out in public with Jackson on purpose. I look up at his face. Am I ready to go there, to fall back into this easy friendship with him? It feels like nothing can ever go back to being as simple as it was before I kissed him, before I ran away.

He seems to sense my hesitation. “Bring Abigail if you want,” he suggests. “Today deserves a celebration.” If he’s offering to have my best friend join us, he must really want me to come.

“Okay,” I tell him.

He breaks into a golden, dangerous smile. “Good. My shift starts at eight.”