Sometimes, a person just needs to relax. So right now, an afternoon in the comfiest armchair, in the quietest coffee shop I can find, is exactly what the doctor ordered. Luckily, this armchair is all kinds of comfy.

I feel like a bowling ball – not just because Nate is sticking his fingers in me every chance he gets – but because I feel so dense when it comes to understanding “couple-dom.”. I have to live every awkward moment and every misread intention for the first time. I never did the whole teenage relationships thing – I never got the chance. So now I guess it makes sense.

Still, I wonder, is this thing between us real? That’s what I can’t figure out.

I know how I feel about Nate. At least, I think I do. Maybe I’m just infatuated, but I don’t think so. It’s more than a crush; I know it is.

But does he feel the same way about me?

I’m just not sure.

I can’t escape the nagging feeling that this is just the way Nate treats every girl. When he looks at me, I feel like he steals all the air in the room. I’m the sexiest girl he’s ever seen. At least, it feels that way. But what if I’m just swept off my feet by his charm because I’ve got no experience to warn me better?

I thought that Nate betrayed me once before. It changed my whole life. If I let it happen again, what does that say about me?

Fool me once, shame on me. But fool me twice…

I reach for my phone. If there’s one person who can help, I know who it is. Frankie. And if I know my BFF as well as I think I do, she’ll be desperate to hear every scrap of gossip. I grimace. I haven’t been keeping in touch nearly as well as I should. I don’t want to be a girl who ditches her friends the second she meets a new man.

Or in my case, A man…

Kim: I need your help.

Kim: (I’m sorry for going AWOL…)

Frankie: About time. Tell me everything. EVERYTHING!

Kim: How do I know if Nate’s…

Frankie: The one? Kim, it’s been what, like – a week?

I stroke my eyebrow, and pluck a hair, savoring the tiny stab of pain it brings. Frankie’s reply was the kind of response I was worried about. Three dots bounce up and down on the screen, indicating Frankie’s still typing. I’m not surprised. She can be like a dog with a bone.

Frankie: Is he that good with his tongue?

I flush. I look around the coffee shop I’ve settled down in for the afternoon. No one is looking my way. I’m glad they can’t see what I’m typing.

Frankie: How big is his cock?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Nate’s cock is the last thing I want on my mind right now. I mean, it’s all I ever want to think about, but… I’m supposed to be getting objective advice, not getting worked up again.

Frankie sends me a picture of a ballpoint, twirled between her fingers. The background of the photo gives me a flash of homesickness. Frankie’s sitting on the ratty brown couch in the apartment she shares with her roommate Jake, or Johnny, or whoever she kept trying to send me out on a date with.

Frankie: Like this?

Frankie: Hold up…

I keep staring at the phone screen. I know what Frankie’s trying to do – and it is working. I feel my mood lifting already. I wish that I could fly back home right now, just for a hug.

My phone chirrups, and I laugh out loud. The old lady opposite shoots a curious, yet somehow disapproving look my way. I ignore it. In the picture, Frankie’s chewing on a carrot like Bugs Bunny, and she’s got a shocked expression on her face.

Frankie: Are we talking vegetable size? Carrot? Root vegetable!?

Frankie: I think Jake did a shop…

Frankie: I’ve got a pumpkin…

My phone chimes yet again. I shade my eyes as I click the notification, just in case. I wouldn’t put it past Frankie to have stripped off to her underwear, just for shock value.

Not quite.

But she has sent a picture of a thick, green cucumber spearing a snow-colored glazed doughnut.

Kim: That was a perfectly good doughnut! What did you do that for?

Frankie: She speaks! So… Pick a color. A, B or C?

I blush. But I know I have to answer. Frankie won’t give up, not that easily.

Kim: C.

Frankie: Now I “see” your problem.

I stifle a giggle. Even for Frankie, that joke was bad. Even so, it was exactly what I needed.

Frankie: Okay, enough messing. I’m here to help…

Kim: Does he like ME, or just, you know, like sleeping with me?

I don’t wait for Frankie’s response before my fingers tap the screen again.

Kim: I think I’m falling for him. I think I’m falling for him: hard. I mean, really, really hard. What in the world do I do?

Kim: Am I just being naïve? He probably just wants sex, right?

Frankie: Whoa, cowboy. Did you check your self-esteem with your coat, girl? It’s only been a week! Has he said he likes you?

Kim: He says he likes my

Frankie: Your…?

I blush. Even typing it is hard. It’s not a word I can ever remember coming out of my mouth. Then again, it’s been a week of firsts…

Kim: My tits…

Frankie: That’s a start. I like them, too. I wish mine were as big. Seriously, you don’t know how lucky you are.

Kim: This is about me…

Frankie: Oh, yeah. Well, here’s an idea – why don’t you just ask him?

I toss my phone into my handbag with a hint of frustration. The hiss of a sigh escapes my lips. I was hoping for something a little more, I don’t know, advanced from Frankie.

I’m suddenly startled by the buzz of conversation inside the little coffee shop. I was so involved in the conversation, I forgot where I was. Heck, a woodpecker could have started drilling at my head, and I might not have noticed.

I need to get Nate off my brain.

The old woman opposite leans towards me. I catch a whiff of mustiness. I’m guessing it’s from the tweed jacket she’s wearing. They seem to love wearing tweed over here. I can’t stand it – it makes you smell like wet dog.

“Everything okay, dear?” The woman asks. I can tell she’s been dying to find out what I’ve been doing.

My head sinks forward, and I shake it from side to side. “Boy problems,” I groan. “It’s nothing that important.”

I grab my laptop out of my handbag. I need to get my mind off Nate, that snake in his trousers, and everything else that’s throwing my life into turmoil right now. I need to do something so boring I won’t be able to think about anything else; something that will lull my brain into quiet. My taxes: that’ll do it.

I watch the old lady out of the corner of my eye. She’s nodding knowingly. I bet she hangs around in coffee shops like this all day, just waiting for someone to speak to her. My head falls back. I shouldn’t think like that. It’s mean.

“Boys, eh?” She smiles. She leans forward, thrusting out her hand. “I’m Jill. Pleased to meet you. So, tell me about this boy you’re having problems with.”

I pull my laptop open. It starts humming, and boots up.

“If you don’t mind,” I say apologetically, “I’m trying to keep him as far away from my thoughts as I can, right now.”

Jill picks up a cup of coffee and slurps the hot liquid. It’s hard to believe that anyone could drink for longer, or do it louder than the old woman in front of me.

“I’ve been there, dear. I find it really does help to talk about it.”

I glance up from my laptop screen and look at Jill. She’s leaning forward, as if we are half way through a conversation. I don’t want to insult her, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Is it a British thing, maybe? I thought they didn’t like to talk about their feelings over here…

“It’s nothing,” I say, smoothing over the problem. “I’m just not sure why he’s after me, what he really wants. It will work itself out.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Jill lights up. She looks like a dog that’s just dug up a long-forgotten bone.

The old lady laughs quietly. “Well, that’s not true,” she says with a knowing grin. “I think that much is obvious.”

I double-click on my taxes folder. “What do you mean?” I ask; half paying attention to her, but mostly to what’s on screen.

“What I said, dear,” Jill says matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t always old, you know. In fact, I remember a time when they were queuing up to get a go…”

I go red. Did she really just say that? I look at the old lady in a new light, narrowing my eyes. She looks so small and frail in that huge leather armchair. I can’t believe that she actually –.

“What?” Jill laughs, a wicked grin tickling her lips. “You thought you millennials invented sex?” She throws her head back and laughs uproariously. A few eyes turn from elsewhere in the coffee shop to look at her, but most of the clientele don’t bother.

I clear my throat. “Well, no, I mean…” I stutter. What are you supposed to say in response to a question like that?

“Tall men, short men, any-kind-you-name-it-men,” Jill chuckles, “I’ve had them all.”

She leans forward. “Mind you, I’m not saying I’m stopping, like. There’s this old boy at the home – Ricky, says his name is. Now, I’m not usually the kind of girl who goes for men with names like Ricky, but,” Jill smiles wistfully, “at my age, dear – beggars can’t be choosers. And he’s got a wicked sense of humor, does my Ricky.”

I turn my eyes to the ceiling. I can’t believe she’s speaking about her sex life so publicly – and so loudly. Still, a part of me is impressed. I’m barely sexually active, and this old girl is still going strong, fifty years my senior.

“Amongst other things…” Jill mutters suggestively.

I stare down at my computer screen, mortified. Spreadsheets. Yep, spreadsheets. That’s exactly what I need to be looking at right now: long, boring rows of numbers.

“I’ve embarrassed you, dear,” Jill says, leaning back in her chair. She’s wearing the kind of smile that suggests this isn’t the first time she’s had this conversation – maybe not even the first time in this coffee shop. I wonder if it’s a hobby of hers, just a game she plays to while away the days.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, not daring to look up from my screen. “It’s just, it’s my first day off since I started my new job, and all these little chores have been building up. I hope you don’t mind?”

Jill doesn’t reply. I wonder if perhaps I’ve offended her, but I don’t risk striking up another conversation to find out why. I’m not sure I can handle delving deeper into her sex life.

Still, I’ve got three months’ worth of banking records to update, so it shouldn’t be hard to scrub the image of Jill’s wrinkly thighs from my mind out of sheer boredom. I head to my bank’s login page, and fill out the obstacle course of obscure questions they want answers to.

The webpage hangs, and then my bank balance updates.

$84,523.27.

I blink. For a second, I’m sure that I must have misread it. There’s no way that $80,000 has appeared in my bank account overnight without me noticing.

“No, that’s not possible,” I whisper. The sound must have escaped my lips, because the old lady – Jill – looks up.

“What’s that, dear?” She asks, her face brightening up with nosy excitement. “Did you say something?”

I can’t talk. I’m stunned.

Eighty thousand dollars.

That kind of money doesn’t just appear out of thin air for no reason. Someone will be looking for it, or worse –.

It was put there for someone else to find.

“Dear?” Jill says, repeating her question.

I shut my laptop lid hard, not caring if I damage it. I need to get out of here. I need to – Jesus, I don’t know what I need to do. All I know is that I’m in trouble, and I’ve got to find help – fast.

“I’m sorry,” I say, stumbling as I stand up. I shove every item I own back into my bag, all in a mess. “I’ve got to go…”