In the morning, I break routine for the second time in two weeks and head to the Starbucks where I ran into Finn his first day back in town. Spoiler alert: he’s not there.

And now, I’m standing outside Downtown Graffick, hoping Finn is spending the morning here with Oliver. Unfortunately, through the front windows, I can see Oliver at the counter, but no Finn. Dammit. I should have just gone to their house in Pacific Beach to see him since I’m clearly past the point of pride. But what am I expecting? That somehow between last week and now, our situation has become convenient for a relationship? He lives in Canada. I’m in San Diego. My mother is undergoing aggressive cancer treatment and his family business is going under unless he signs on for a glossy reality television show that stipulates he can’t have a girlfriend.

But all of the other obstacles—the ones I thought were meaningful only weeks ago, including our tendency to bicker and his bossy male act—don’t seem that relevant anymore. We’ve softened together, found some sort of easy peace. Plus, I like his kinky little rope thing. I like the fact that working with his hands, and rope, is so ingrained in his history that it makes him wild to pull me into that world, too, literally wrapping me up in it.

Oliver looks out the window and spots me, waving for me to come inside. Now I’ll have to go in and pretend I’m really looking for Lorelei because why else would I be at a comic book store? I’ve been friends with Lola long enough to hold my own with basic pop culture references, but Oliver knows the only reason I can differentiate Hellboy from Abe Sapien is because of Lola’s T-shirt collection. I take a deep, confidence-building breath: if I’m here, I’m obviously here looking for her.

The little bell rings when I push through the door. “There you are, Lola!”

Lola looks up from where she’s reading in the front nook, and just laughs. Oliver hands a customer some change and thanks them, before looking up at me. “He’s in L.A. today.”

“Grah,” I mutter. “Busted.” My pulse accelerates thinking about Finn going alone to Los Angeles to meet with the big television executives. He’s got better life instincts than most people I know, but I feel a halfhearted spike of irritation that he didn’t ask me to come along for moral support.

Ugh, I’m in a bad way. Hard up.

Losing my mind.

“Don’t you work today?” Lola asks.

“No,” I tell her, slumping down on the chair next to hers. “I changed my schedule because Mom starts chemo today, but then Dad told me to come see her tomorrow instead.”

“What do you even do, Chandler Bing?” Oliver asks, laughing.

I look up, startled. I didn’t realize he could hear us, and for a beat I’m panicked because I mentioned Mom’s chemo. But Oliver doesn’t look even a little surprised. Either he didn’t hear that part, or Lola’s already told him and he knows he’s not allowed to ask me about it.

I wonder if he’s told Finn. But if he has, wouldn’t Finn ask me about it?

“Statistical analysis and data reconfiguration,” I lie, playing along. “What’s Finn doing in L.A. anyway?”

“Dunno,” he says, and I love the way his accent puts an “r” sound at the end of every word ending in a vowel. He frowns. “He’s not really talking about what he’s doing here at all. Finn’s always been that mysterious broody type, but I don’t know. Quite secretive, really.”

I nearly high-five myself, knowing now that I know something Oliver doesn’t. Oliver knows Finn better than almost anyone. We’ve talked about his job and his family a little, but Bedroom Finn’s history is an absolute mystery to me, and the more I want to see him, the more I hate the idea of him with hordes of girls, doing what we did at Oliver’s house, and on my couch . . . acts that had left me feeling like my view of sex and intimacy had been wiped clean of a cloudy film I hadn’t even known was there.

And now here we are, alone in the store without the man himself. No way am I going to miss this opportunity to dig.

“So you don’t know what Finn is up to down here for a few weeks”—I decide to start slowly, keeping it about professional things—“but it seems like he’s the one basically in charge of his entire family business?”

Oliver nods. “His mum died when he was twelve, right? Then a few years later his dad had a heart attack and a stroke, so Finn’s running the ship. Literally.”

“That must make it pretty hard to date.” Oops. My slow-and-subtle plan crashes and burns.

Lola snorts next to me, flipping the page in her comic book without looking up, and Oliver gives me a dubious glance.

“I know Finn would tell me anything,” I assure him. “If I asked.”

Oliver studies me for a moment, running his finger under his lower lip. “So just ask him, then.”

“I don’t want him to know I want to know,” I say, wearing my Captain Obvious expression. “Duh, Oliver.”

Laughing, he says, “You two are messed up.”

“Oh, because we are the only ones with secrets?” I tilt my gaze to Lola, still reading obliviously beside me.

Oliver gives me the touché face, and says, “Fair enough.”

He’s all but admitted out loud he has a thing for Lola! I—am—giddy!

“Besides,” I tell him, coiling my hair into a bun on top of my head, “I may not know him like you do, of course, but we all know he’s a fisherman who works all the time so basically only has time to bang skanky Canadian hockey muffs that he meets at the local Moose N’ Brew.”

“He doesn’t bang hockey muffs,” Oliver says, mildly offended.

Bingo.

“So just a parade of regulars down at the docks, then?”

Oliver scowls.

I lace my fingers behind my head, grinning at him. “You’re making this so easy.”

He starts to organize some receipts. “I can’t believe you married him for twelve hours, knobbed him at his place in Canada, and have been fooling around for almost two weeks here, yet haven’t discussed any of this.”

“We aren’t fooling around anymore,” I tell him. When he looks up, surprised, I say, “We were too good at it. It was a little too distracting.”

And here is where I know Lola has talked to Oliver about my mom: His eyes go a little sympathetic, a little soft. “Right. Sorry, Harlow.”

“Gah, don’t. She’s going to be fine.”