“What do you mean, not hungry. You’re always hungry.” Ian was looking at me suspiciously. He wasn’t wrong, but today was special.

True to her word, Alexandra had brought in scones and muffins from her sister’s bakery. I’d been grazing on them all morning, so when lunch arrived, I wasn’t hungry. Nevertheless, I’d made plans to meet Ian, so that’s what I did.

“I’d give you one of the baked goods Alexandra brought it, but they aren’t vegan,” I replied with a shrug.

Ian pouted at me. “You know, that’s the one thing I miss: desserts.”

“Muffins aren’t dessert. They’re breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He rolled his eyes and fought down a chuckle. I talked a good game, but the truth was that he was right, of course. There was no redeeming nutritional value in a lemon poppy seed muffin, no matter how good it was (and Alexandra’s sister made a really good one). I’d had to extend my leisurely morning jogs from one mile to two just to keep up with the increased caloric intake of dating Rosie. If I started eating all the treats Alexandra apparently had access to, I’d need to add on another mile. At least one. Maybe two. I’d eaten a lot of muffins.

“Fine,” Ian told me, pulling out his bowl of green things and whole grains, “I’ll eat my healthy lunch all alone.” Ian made a long-suffering face.

“You’re a real trooper,” I replied. I knew he secretly enjoyed being healthier than me. It was true that I’d lorded my physical fitness over him for years. I dangled the carrot of not feeling like crap in front of him to try and convince him that getting all his nutrition from a bottle as a bad idea. Ultimately it hadn’t worked. But it had resulted in him becoming hyper competitive about things like body fat ratio post-sobriety.

Like he was reading my mind, Ian’s next question proved my point. “Are we still running that half-marathon in New Braunsfels this next month?” He looked excited at the prospect. “I’m really looking forward to kicking your ass.”

I’d completely forgotten about the race. “Sure,” I replied. Then I paused. “Can Rosie come? She’s a distance runner, too.”

We hadn’t gone running together yet, but I had a bad feeling that she could probably run circles around me. Aside from being nearly ten years younger, she also ran with a UT running club that I remembered as being too intense for me during my law school days. I was in better shape today than I had been during law school—I was still going through physical therapy from the accident—but the one time I’d gone on a modest six mile run with that club, I’d ended up throwing up afterwards.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. Can I bring Victoria then?”

I blinked at him. “Victoria runs?” She was tall and slim, but I seemed to remember her complaining once about going up a long flight of stairs.

Ian laughed. “No. God no. She hates exercise. She can go shopping and then meet us for lunch afterwards though.”

That sounded more like it. “Ok. Sure.”

In reality, I needed to talk to Victoria anyway. I still had schemes—plans, rather—that involved her.

“Speaking of Victoria, have you given any thought to changing the name of your new band?” I asked Ian.

Moonstone was a stupid name. Ian knew it. I knew it. Everybody but Victoria seemed to know it.

Thankfully, Ian nodded seriously. “Once I told her it sounded like a all-girl electropop group she changed her tune.”

“The shows tomorrow. What are you going with?”

“The Scoobys.”

“The what?”

“Scoobys.” He grinned. “You know, like from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

Ian was a huge Buffy fan. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s worse. Go back to Moonstone. That was dumb, but this is bad. Better to be dumb than bad.”

Ian shook his head at me in between bites of quinoa. “Nope. I already told Ward and he put it on the blackboard behind the bar. It’s blackboard official.” He said it like it meant something.

Blackboard official? Was that like Facebook official? Sounded like bullshit to me.

“No one can read Ward’s handwriting. It’s not too late.”

“I’m sorry man, it’s blackboard official.”

“How can I convince you this is a bad thing to name your band?” It seemed suddenly imperative that I save Ian from his own bad taste. “That name makes me want to turn off my radio.”

“It’ll grow on you.”

“It sounds like it would grow on something.” I frowned. “Actually, isn’t that what they call the weird snot-looking stuff at the bottom of Kombucha? You really want to name your band after a wad of bacteria?”

Ian burst out laughing and nearly spilled his lunch. “That’s a Scobie. It’s a mother culture.”

“Can’t you just call the band that? It’s not so bad.”

“Mother culture?” he asked.

“Yeah. It sounds Jungian or whatever.” Honestly, I wasn’t that into it, but anything was better than The Scoobys. I honestly even preferred Moonstone, although it definitely did sound like an all-girl electropop group. At least I enjoyed electropop. The Scoobys sounded like a cover band that exclusively played coves of that damn Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode that Ian loved so much.

Ian seemed to be giving it some genuine thought. “Mother Culture?”

“Yes.” I tried to infuse my words with conviction and excitement.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I bet Victoria would like it.”

“I said that I’d think about it.”

“Ok.”

“So,” Ian ventured, clearly desperate now to change the subject, “how are things going with Rosie?”

He couldn’t have picked a better topic to distract me with.

“Amazing.”

“Amazing huh?” He looked at me with what I interpreted as a mixture of superiority and vicarious joy. “You’ve gotten over your indecisiveness?”

Indecisiveness? I wouldn’t have ever called it that. I was never indecisive about wanting Rosie. “You mean my abject fear of wrecking my life and hers?”

Ian shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Yes. I’ve gotten over that.”

He grinned. “So, my advice was helpful.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it was.”

“Yeah, it was. I’ll give you this one.”

“You’re so generous.” Ian’s sarcasm was legendary, but I genuinely did appreciate his help.

“I’m serious, Ian,” I told him. “Your advice was helpful. I don’t think I would have made a move without it.”

Ian grinned. He was proud of himself. I gave him his moment. Then, when I felt he’d had enough… “so can we go back to brain storming new names for The Scoobys? Because I can pitch names all afternoon if that’s what it takes.”

Ian’s grin slid off his face and was replaced by an annoyed expression. “Ugh. Fine.”

I brightened. It wasn’t only for Ian’s sake that he had to rename his band, although of course I wanted Ian to be successful, too. If things went well, Rosie might be opening for Ian’s band on a regular basis. I didn’t want her billed below The Scoobys. In fact, I didn’t want The Scoobys billed at all. Once again, I had to save Ian from himself. But this time, it would save Rosie, too.