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Hives. Everywhere.

Finally, when I was beginning to think I might have to send him to the drugstore for some cortisone, he located a deep enough casserole dish. He placed it on the counter gently, large hands gripping the sides as he made sure it wouldn’t break, then turned to me. “Now we put the bread in and pour the liquid over top?”

“Yes.” It didn’t take very long, after which we were left just staring at it, waiting for the bread to absorb all of the delicious, rich, sweet goo. It reminded me of when we were in the kitchen previously, when Benjamin and Bev had been asking me about my hopes and dreams, and made me realize that Seth hadn’t said anything about his own. “So we covered pretty well what I wanted from my future and that I like living where we live,” I said. “What about you? You ran to Vermont to escape commitment, but why did you stay? You could’ve gone anywhere.”

“I liked where I’d gone,” Seth said. “You know, I didn’t even realize how much I’d like it until I got there. I grew up here, then went to college and lived for a few years in Boston, so I never really left the city environment. But when I got to Vermont and realized that all the open space around me was there to stay, that I’d get to see the same people over and over again every week, it was like I could breathe deeper than I ever had before. You know?”

“I know,” I said, because I’d felt that way, too. “Though I’m amazed you became part of the town. I think the only reason they welcomed me in is because I was in a relationship with one of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s really not that complicated. You just be friendly to people and offer to help them out and, before you know it, you’re friends.”

“Whatever.” It definitely wasn’t that easy. Not that I’d ever tried. “What about career goals? Do you always want to be…a…” His job sounded so boring that I’d already forgotten his official title. “Data…person?”

He raised an eyebrow. “A data person?”

“Yes,” I said. “A data person.”

He snorted. “I mean, it’s not quite being a professional baseball player. That’s what I wanted to be as a kid, but I didn’t even make the varsity team in high school. I like my job, though. It’s low-stress, low-stakes, good hours, and it pays well. I like that I can do it anywhere and that I have lots of time to do things outside of work, like go hiking. Maybe I’ll want to switch it up one day if I get bored, but I’m happy now.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “Unlike when you said I’d changed. I haven’t changed. I haven’t.” It seemed very, very important that he know and acknowledge that. My breaths were coming a little faster just thinking about it.

Before I could say anything else, his hands were on my shoulders and he was looking down at me with very serious eyes. “I know you’re not a hugger, so if you say no, it’s totally okay,” he said. “But can I give you a hug?”

I opened my mouth to grumble no, to tell him that I’d rather spontaneously combust.

But instead I just stepped into his arms and nestled my cheek against his shoulder. Why? I couldn’t tell you.

Maybe you actually have changed, a voice whispered in my head. A voice that sounded an awful lot like Seth’s. When had my inner monologue started sounding like the most annoying person in the world?

Except it was like his arms around me were soothing the irritation, aloe vera on a burn. Or maybe it was more like those strong, warm arms were protecting me from whatever in the air had been causing it. Either way, I felt my shoulders relax, my heart rate slow.

It still felt important to tell him, “I haven’t changed.” It came out muffled by his flannel shirt.

“Of course you haven’t,” he said into the crown of my head. His breath ruffled my hair, sending tingles down my neck. It was a pleasant sensation. Not because of him, obviously. Because every girl knew that getting your hair played with or rustled or teased felt good. That’s why I didn’t want to move.

Which meant, of course, that we were standing like that when Bev and Benjamin came back. Bev must have trained at the ninja school for opening doors, because I didn’t hear her come in. As soon as I heard their footsteps in the kitchen, I sprang apart from Seth. Not soon enough to keep her from seeing us like that, though.

“Oh, sorry to walk in on you!” Bev said, not sounding sorry at all. She sounded the opposite of sorry, actually. Delighted. Thrilled. Full of joy that we might have made her a little Jewish grandbaby in her kitchen.

“You didn’t walk in on anything,” I blurted, which kind of foiled my attempt to be the perfect Fake Girlfriend, but hopefully she’d take it as me being shy. “We’re just making French toast. Seth, how’s that bread looking?”

“Delicious, Chef,” Seth said. “But I think it still needs a few more minutes to finish soaking.”

Great. That left me with nothing to do besides stand there and absorb Bev’s exultant looks and Benjamin’s general affect of “I would rather be anywhere else but here.” I dug my pointiest fingernail into the tender skin of my forearm, just to force myself to feel something other than cringe.

It didn’t help.

Bev to the rescue. “I’ve always loved French toast,” she said. “I don’t let myself eat it often because, you know, all the carbs and sugar, but of course I’ll eat yours.”

Thank god. I could talk about French toast for hours. “Yeah, it might not be the healthiest breakfast, but it’s hard to get more delicious than fried bread with butter and sugar. I was thinking I’d make some syrup out of the berries and some vinegar and citrus zest if you have some, too. It’s always a hit when I have it at the café.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Bev said. “Is that a family recipe?”

It was like the air in the room froze. Except that Bev and Benjamin’s expressions didn’t change at all, so maybe it was just suddenly freezing for me. I opened my mouth, but ice was lodged in my throat. I couldn’t get anything out.

I felt Seth appear beside me before I saw him. “I think the bread is done soaking, Chef. What’s next?” His warmth didn’t quite thaw me, but it made it possible for me to move. Jerkily, it was true, but I managed to step to the counter and maneuver my fingers into picking up the box of berries.

“Not a family recipe, something I found online and tweaked to my liking,” I said, hoping Bev would leave it at that.