I smiled, a little bashfully, full of feelings I couldn’t name and wouldn’t even try to explain. After last night, I was a bit unsure as to how we moved into this new phase of . . . whatever this was. I’d never been here before. Would it be weird? Would it be strange? Would we immediately go from being cool and happy-go-lucky, into some kind of now-we’re-a-couple-and-this-is-how-couples-behave-and-holy-shit-wait-a-minute-are-we-a-couple—

A kiss broke me out of my incipient panic. It was just the tiniest brush against my lips, but so warm and sweet that it cut right through my bullshit and made me want another kiss. And another one.

Leo’s hands sneaked around to the small of my back as he tugged me against him, little light kisses dancing off in a line toward my neck.

“Hi,” he murmured, speaking directly to my heartbeat, currently thumping against his lips.

I breathed in deeply, luxuriating in his scent. All that green grass and salty skin. His beard rasped a bit against my collarbone, and I realized that the feel of him, rough and scruffy, was something I’d also gotten very much used to.

“I’ve got a pile of bacon here that’s getting cold, and you know Mr. Beechum hates cold bacon. So eighty-six the kissyface and get your buns back to work.” Maxine cracked my buns with a dish towel as she walked by with a crooked smile.

My kissyface had been noticed. My kissyface would be the talk of the condiment station within minutes, and out on the gossip wire within the hour.

Eh.

Eh?

Yeah, eh.

It’s a new world order.

I dared to sneak in one more kiss, then smiled up at him. “What’s up?”

“We’re here for lunch,” he replied, his eyes dancing.

Riiiiight. Cue cold water bucket. Because Leo was already a we. And would always be a we. And as someone who already had issues with being a we, this would be tricky for me.

I smiled bravely, determined to see how this played out. I’d promised Leo I’d try.

Pushing through the swinging door into the hustle and bustle, I spied Polly sitting at the end of the counter. Taking a deep breath, I sauntered out like I owned the place—which technically, in my mother’s will, I did—determined to show no fear.

“Hey there, Polly, how’s it hanging?” I asked. I actually asked a kid how’s it hanging. And I know this because the words were flashing in the air, enclosed in a bubble like in a comic strip. A comic strip titled “Things to Never Say to a Child.”

I looked over my shoulder to see if Leo had caught it, and he was just staring at the ceiling, shaking his head.

Polly looked confused. “How’s what hanging?”

Flailing, I said, “Your ponytail, of course!” I smiled so widely I could feel my lips stretch.

She smoothed her ponytail with her fingers. “Fine, I guess.”

“Well, that’s just great. So what can I do you for?”

“I’m starving,” she announced, sitting primly on her counter stool.

“Then, you’ve come to the right place. I was just getting ready to make myself a grilled cheese. You like grilled cheese?”

“I don’t like grilled cheese,” she said. As I started to think of other options, she leaned across the counter and said in a dead serious voice, “I love grilled cheese.”

“Fantastic,” I replied, deadpan as well.

“Hey, Rox? She likes her grilled cheese with Velvee—”

“Hush,” I said, which made Polly giggle. “You want the regular grilled cheese or you want the Roxie Special Grilled Cheese?”

“Roxie Special!” she shouted. Then, as though she’d caught herself having fun, she repeated “Roxie Special” in a nonchalant manner.

“Coming right up,” I answered, shooing Leo onto the stool next to her.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I want a Roxie Special?” he asked, just as Maxine came around the corner with a wet dish towel.

“Another one?” she asked with a wink and a snap of her towel.

Leo’s mouth fell open, then closed when he saw Polly studying his reaction.

“What did she mean, Daddy?” I heard her ask as I backed into the kitchen, laughing to myself. Facing the grill, I commandeered a corner for myself from Forever Grumbling Carl, and went to work.

Ten minutes later, I slid three piping-hot grilled cheese sandwiches onto plates and carried them out front.

“Oooo,” Polly breathed as I set the sandwich in front of her.

“Oooh,” Leo breathed as he looked at the sandwich in front of her. “Wow, Rox, that’s beautiful, but—”

“This doesn’t look like my regular grilled cheese,” Polly said, looking at the sandwich, then me, then the sandwich again.

“No, ma’am,” I replied from my side of the counter. I picked up half of my sandwich, and a string of ooey gooey fontina followed.

Fontina, layered with mozzarella and English cheddar, topped with thin slices of Granny Smith apple, and the barest hint of fresh sage. The bread? Thickly sliced caraway rye, buttered on both sides and blackened with grill marks. I took a huge bite, rolling my eyes up to the heavens as I enjoyed the fuck out of my sandwich.

“What’s that sticking out of the side?” Polly asked.

“Apple.”

“On a grilled cheese?”

“Oh yeah.” I nodded through a mouthful.

“My dad always says you’re not supposed to talk with your mouth full.”

I shot right back, “My mom always says to eat what’s put in front of you.”

She thought about that a moment, head tilting to the side in the spitting image of her father. “My dad says that too,” she agreed, and picked up her sandwich. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, then took a tentative bite.