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Nate: Rude. Meet me at Maple Cream?

I look back toward the clinic. Then at the street ahead. Then at my phone.

Me: Fine. But if you order something with gummy bears, I’m leaving.

Nate: Live a little, Maggie.

I almost laugh.

Then I put the phone away and walk toward Maple Cream.

Nate is already there when I arrive, because he’s always late to important things and early to snacks. He’s sitting at the little table outside, hoodie zipped up, hair falling into his eyes, one knee bouncing under the table. He looks like me in a cheaper jacket and with a better smile.

When he sees me, his face lights up.

That’s the problem with Nate. He can make me feel guilty and loved in the same breath.

“You look awful,” he says.

“Thank you. I was going for haunted but approachable.”

“Big success.”

I sit across from him carefully. The chair is cold. My stomach pulls a little, low and dull. I keep my face normal.

Nate notices anyway. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You say fine like a doctor says mild discomfort.”

“I am a future doctor.”

“Exactly. Untrustworthy.”

I shake my head. “Ice cream.”

He grins and gets up before I can offer to pay.

“Nate.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to do that thing where you act casual and then pay for both of us.”

“That’s called being generous.”

“That’s called being controlling with a debit card.”

I stare at him.

He points at me. “Sit.”

“Don’t tell me to sit.”

“You’re already sitting.”