The week flies by. It’s already Sunday and Rowan is emotionally exhausted, all of his mental energy spent on trying not to fight Stephen every step of every day. They’ve managed to work it out—barely—each of them taking up half a table, silently going about their business. By now, Rowan knows the baking schedule and Stephen doesn’t have to tell him he’s wrong as much. It’s almost a comfortable partnership. Almost.

Rowan wakes up early Sunday morning, the now-engrained schedule prompting him out of bed whether he likes it or not. After checking his messages—one from Lina, talking about Leo and Austin being disgustingly cute—he goes to shower, taking his time. When he makes his way to the house, Jen is already visible in the kitchen window, red hair a tangle of curls.

“You’re up early.”

“Not by choice,” she mutters. She’s still in sweatpants and a tank top. “Mom and Dad spend Sundays out. Usually go to the Farmer’s Market and talk to friends.”

“Oh. Guess we have the place to ourselves, then.”

“We’re practicing a few desserts today,” Jen says, seemingly ignoring his comment. He takes it in stride, nodding as he starts preparing to make fruit salad.

“Really? Why? Still trying to copy my massive success?”

“Shut up. We’re starting in an hour—you may want to change.”

Change? It’s a strange thing to say. Still, Jen is half-asleep, so he assumes it makes sense to her. He finishes making his breakfast and sets up on the kitchen table, cross-legged, a tablet propped in front of him. Dean has sent him a schedule with little notes written on the side. They make Rowan smile; they’re all dumb things like Lina isn’t working on this if I can help it and I think Austin is taking Leo to a concert, that should be funny. It makes him feel like he’s still there, even if only in spirit. It’s nice of Dean to do, he knows, because the man is probably busy fielding a million requests from potential project partners.

“You’re still in pajamas?” Jen asks, interrupting his train of thought. He blinks, glancing at his watch.

“No? I don’t mind getting flour on my cotton pants, Jen, they’re not hard to wash—”

A car horn honks outside, interrupting them. I thought they weren’t getting back until later? He catches Jen looking startled and then she holds a hand up, quick.

“I’ll go—start getting the things out for lemon bars, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan calls after her, shaking his head. Why’s she so tense? He starts pulling things out of the pantry, preoccupied, and then he happens to glance out the kitchen window. There’s a truck parked outside—small and red, considerably old but in good shape. It’s not his aunt or uncle’s, as far as he knows. He frowns, leaning further to try and see where Jen is. Who is that? The front door opens suddenly then, Jen going on about temperatures and lemon juice, and his heart drops into his shoes.

“They’ve done some gardening since last time, huh?” Stephen asks Jen as he follows her, pulling his jacket off as he goes. Rowan can feel his relaxed attitude shriveling like a grape in the sun. Damn it, Jen.

Stephen hangs his denim jacket on a hook in the living room before he walks into the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looks the same as he always has, mildly battered and scruffy. The man’s eyes land on Rowan and he pauses, apparently caught off-guard. It gives Rowan the smallest bit of comfort to know that at least they didn’t plan this together. It’s just a tiny bit of comfort, though—not nearly enough for him to really forgive his cousin for her scheming or to forgive Stephen for being his infuriating self.

He knows what she’s doing. She’s done it since they were both small—setting him up in these kinds of situations, usually to do things he hates. She always tried to help him, volunteering them both for a bake sale in middle school and signing them both up for a pep club in high school. It was always her way of trying to get him to do things he normally wouldn’t. She pushed him to try, always reminding him you won’t always be around people who love you. You gotta know how to survive without me, Ro. In some ways, of course, she’d been right—he learned how to make himself interact with others just in time for college and when he moved, it wasn’t the gaping wound it could have been. He still felt homesick for a while but eventually, remembering to socialize and try to make friends, he found friends and coworkers that helped him stay sane.

Now that he’s an adult, though, he can’t help but feel a little resentful that she’s still trying to help him out, that she feels like she has to.

“We’re making lemon bars,” Jen says, casting a glance between the two men in the room. “Ro?”

He has a choice. He could just walk away; it’s not necessary for him to be there if Jen is going to teach Stephen anyway. But…I’m the one in control here. For the first time, he could actually know more than Stephen. This is his chance, he thinks, to show that he knows more. The child in him urges him to do it—he wants to show that he’s the best at what he does—but his adult mind recognizes it’s a dumb decision. He could be relaxing in a bubble bath instead.

But work is life for him. If he’s not good at what he does, why bother relaxing?

“You ever made lemon bars before?” Rowan asks, starting to unwrap a stick of butter.

“Never had the pleasure,” Stephen concedes, looking a little less on edge. Jen almost audibly sighs in relief. She casts Rowan a brief look, both eyebrows raised, as if to say it’s not that bad, is it?

Once they get started, it really isn’t. Either because he’s a guest in someone else’s house or because he knows where they stand, Stephen doesn’t say much during the lesson. He follows Rowan’s instruction without question, careful to stay out of the other man’s space.

It should feel good but it doesn’t. Somehow, the silence is ugly. It sits in the air like poison and Rowan almost can’t stand it. He can’t figure out what the problem is—it’s not like Stephen is being rude or dismissive. In fact, he is more respectful than he’s been since they first met. Rowan wonders if that’s why he feels strange—it’s like a one-eighty turn that’s thrown him off-balance. The person he’s grown accustomed to being around, if only for a short span of time, is no longer someone he knows. He hates that he feels so awkward around Stephen like this. It’s like there’s two of me, he realizes, feeling a little guilty. There’s no one to make me talk. Or to joke with me.

By the time they pop the lemon bars in, Rowan decides he can’t stick around without at least changing out of his pajamas.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jen nods, already helping Stephen clean up, talking about what they’ll make next.

Rowan takes his time getting back to the guest house. Part of him wants to stay there—after all, there’s no reason for him to stick around when they’re technically done—but something tugs him back. He’s not sure what—it’s not like he owes Stephen anything. Or Jen, for that matter.

He changes quickly, debating at the door to the guest house for almost five minutes, and then throws the door open to go back, shaking his head. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to spend the day stuck in his own head. He can’t. There’s nothing for him to do and he has to do something, even if that something is socializing with a man he doesn’t quite like.

He gets to the back door and pauses, noticing something on the ground. It looks like a key ring. He stoops to pick it up and barely hears a sudden voice from inside.

“I can’t!”

“Why not?” Jen asks, muffled through the door. Rowan pauses, hesitating, unsure of whether to interrupt or not. Whatever she’s talking about with Stephen sounds serious.

“Melissa barely sees me at all, Jen. Her visits consist of talking about her disappointment in me and acting sorry for me being hungover or drunk.”

Melissa? Rowan leans against the door, wondering. He guesses it’s an ex. It’s strange to think of Stephen with a…girlfriend. Or wife. He can barely take care of himself, it seems. At least he recognizes it, though.

“Listen, I know you’re divorced but Mel’s not gonna stop caring about you. You were together for years, Stephen. And Jordi—”

“It’s only a matter of time before Jordi starts listening to her mom,” Stephen says, his laugh sharp and humorless. “And she’d be smart to. Kid’s in college. She has a life to live.”

“You’re her father, Stephen. And I may not know much, but I know you’ve always tried to do right by her. She knows that.”

I should go in, Rowan thinks. He wants to stay outside but feels guilty for eavesdropping. And he’s feeling something else, something unexpected. Sympathy? He almost doesn’t want to think about the fact that Stephen may have been normal once. Happily married. With a child. If Jen says the man cares about his daughter, he probably does—and Stephen seems to be harboring a lot of doubt and pain about the entire situation. Maybe that’s why he drinks.

Rowan makes noise as he enters the house, hoping it’s enough to give them both notice. When he walks in, he’s relieved to see that both Stephen and Jen look as casual as they possibly could, given the circumstances. He feels like he won’t look as guilty being normal around them, since they’re both calm.

“What’s next?” Rowan asks Jen, trying not to make it seem monumental. He still knows it’s significant, though the fact that he came back at all when he had the chance to leave. Jen scrutinizes him, toying with a bottle of vanilla extract. He hopes she can’t tell that he heard their conversation.

“Just some macaroons. I usually do the batches, but Stephen needs to make sure he can get them right.”

“Okay.”

He starts the process, hoping Stephen can tell that he’s open to talking, but the man is close-mouthed. Is it because of whatever is going on with his his ex-wife and kid? Is it because he doesn’t trust me? The questions fly through his head and things rapidly deteriorate. He feels like he’s stuck in a pit of endless silence and awkwardness and he just wants to leave. Thankfully, Jen intervenes.

“What was it you said Jordi was majoring in?” Jen asks Stephen, the question innocent.

“Art—um, painting, I think. Kid’s changed her mind at least twice already. She loves everything too much to pick.” He smiles briefly, fondness softening his features.

Rowan nods, thinking. She must be going to college far away, if it’s for art. He realizes Jen is staring at him and he starts, realizing his mistake.

“Um—Jordi is…?”

“My daughter,” Stephen says, measuring out sugar, “Good kid. She’s twenty now. Still a kid but…she’s learning things. Growing up. Even did her taxes last year.”

“That’s more than Jen did at that age,” Rowan volunteers jokingly, trying to extend as much of a truce as possible. He’s not the kind of guy who would be a dick about someone else’s kid, especially when he doesn’t know them. It certainly seems like Stephen cares about her, anyway. He’s obviously less tense when he’s talking about her.

“Hey, at least I was going out on the weekends,” Jen snorts. “You were holed up in your dorm all freshman year. I remember when you went back to your room after that chemistry test and immediately passed out on the couch like a dead man.”

“Oh, please. At least I didn’t show up to my communications final with three hours of sleep and rum breath.”

He freezes as soon as he says it. Shit. Rowan immediately glances at Stephen, unsure. Did I cross a line? Is there even a line to cross? The other man just smiles at their teasing, shaking his head as he mixes the bowl on the table.

“I haven’t even gone to Jordi’s school,” Stephen snorts, “but from what she says, it’s a nightmare.”

“You’ve never been?” Rowan asks, trying not to sound too confrontational. He can’t help the prickle of judgment rising in his chest.

“Not enough time.”

Not enough time? He almost can’t believe the answer. It’s the shittiest thing he’s ever heard. If she’s his daughter, he should make time. There’s a familiar burn rising in his heart. He bites it back but the bitterness is there, reminding him. All the times he was a kid at school, all the parent-teacher conferences with embarrassed teachers and his ever-patient aunt and uncle.

His father had died. His mother had left, either depressed or angry or simply unable to care for her son. She sent back money at sporadic intervals, vaguely alluding to her situation or adding in stock quotes about surviving adversity. They meant nothing to him; he was too young to care past the fact that she was gone. His aunt and uncle became his parents and Jen was his sister. He grew up knowing how to be self-sufficient. There was always the knowledge that he didn’t have what his friends had—no true relationship with his mother. She was still alive. Somewhere. It was just that she hadn’t cared enough to stick around.

Hearing Stephen talk about his daughter while still showing up drunk to work, talking about having no time to fix his relationship with her, just makes him angry all over again. It’s like he pretends to care for the pity. Is this what my mother is doing, somewhere in the world? He hates that he’s thinking about her again—that he’s been dragged back into his childhood issues by some man he barely knows.

“Maybe you should make time,” Rowan says with forced lightness. He ignores Jen’s sharp look, instead continuing. “You know. Take days off work. Actually visit her. She’d probably love it.”

Stephen is quiet. Jen nudges Rowan away from the man to stand in front of the pan they’ve readied, her move a little more forceful than necessary. She starts helping Stephen, spacing the desserts evenly.

“Didn’t you say she visited the other week? Spring break?” Jen asks, trying to redirect the conversation.

“Yeah. We had breakfast. With her mother.”

“Oh? You’re married?” It slips out without warning. Rowan wants to backtrack out the door and to the guest house. Great. I don’t need to hear what’s coming next. I just made things worse.

“No. Divorced,” Stephen says tensely. Jen turns to fully glare at Rowan, her gaze clearly saying, What are you thinking, shut up. The sentiment is clear.

“Well, I’ll bet Jordi was glad to get away from the campus,” Jen says evenly, obviously trying to come up with something more positive to talk about. “Um, you know, I was thinking about offering sandwiches. We make croissants. Chicken salad or ham and cheese or something. What do you think?”

“I…I don’t think we have time to make sandwiches every day. And you’d have to figure out a supplier for everything outside of the bread, which could get confusing to keep track of,” Stephen manages, obviously still gloomy but allowing himself to be distracted by her question.

“You’re probably right,” she says quickly, “It was just a thought. You know, you’ve always mentioned that certain times of day call for different batches—maybe we should draw up a spreadsheet, just in case we ever grow and get more help.”

“I guess.”

The mood is officially soured. Nothing Jen says seems to pull Stephen out of his funk. Eventually, the macaroons are done and Jen insists on sending the man home with a portion of the pastries made that day. She walks him to his truck and Rowan stays in the kitchen, pretending to clean up. He can hear the front door close and he holds his breath, knowing what comes next.

“Ro.”

“Not now, Jen.”

She pauses, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. She doesn’t speak again, watching him rinse a bowl, until he gives in, sighing. He turns to her and raises his brows to let her know he’s listening.

“You know, he’s not a bad guy. I know he brings up bad memories—”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rowan says sharply, immediately regretting his tone. It’s not her fault. “I didn’t expect him to be here. I didn’t expect to talk about that, either.”

“I get it,” Jen says carefully, “I really should have told you. I just know you’re stubborn and if I’d told you, you probably would have disappeared. I just wanted to show you he’s not as bad as you think he is. I didn’t…expect for this to happen, either.”

It’s not quite an apology. He doesn’t need one, though. They’re close enough that he understands why she didn’t say anything and he knows the unwelcome memories are just that—intruders in an otherwise average conversation.

“Don’t worry,” Rowan says, sighing as he leans against the sink. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I think Mom and Dad are back,” Jen realizes, turning towards the door. The sound of a truck rolling against gravel echoes in the distance.

“I’m not making dinner,” Rowan jokes, smiling. Jen smiles back.

It doesn’t change what happened, but it makes it just a little bit better.