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Sometimes I lie awake thinking about how if I’d told Delilah how I’d been feeling these last few weeks, I could have avoided rushing to the emergency room.

But then, I wouldn’t have met Shane.

Delilah makes a psssh sound. “Adam knows you’re my favorite. He’s not jealous—not that much, anyway.”

I laugh, fishing for my earbuds and popping in the working one so I can keep cleaning while we chat. My bucket is already filled with water and the lemon cleaner I prefer for hardwoods.

“My defunct pancreas appreciates your affection. What were you up to tonight?”

“Disney movie sing-along. You?”

“Hot date with a mop.”

“You know…” Delilah starts, but I cut her off.

“No. We’re not going there.”

“If you asked out the sexy baseball player, you wouldn’t be alone on a Friday night. There, I said it,” she tells me in a rush.

“I already told you we’re not entertaining that thought, and besides, he’s busy tonight.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I wince, squeezing my eyes shut.

My friend has been relentless about insisting I reach out to the man who swooped in to save me, swearing she felt “a connection” between the two of us. Even if there was, I’m in no place—emotionally or physically—for a new relationship.

Regardless, I saved a screenshot of the Waves game schedule. You never know when that information could come in handy. Maybe I’ll use it at a trivia night in my non-existent free time.

Delilah titters, delighted. “Is he? Home or away?”

Home, my mind replies automatically, but I force myself to say, “I don’t know.”

“Sure, you don’t.”

“How was Piper’s dance recital?”

It still makes my stomach sick that I wasn’t able to attend my unofficial niece’s performance because my boss at the coffee shop wouldn’t let me switch shifts. Indy, a nice college student who also works there, was willing to trade, but Gus wouldn’t allow it because it interrupted the ‘consistency of customer experience.’ Like the baristas are cast members in a theme park or something.

Patrons don’t even pay attention to us. Most of the time, they use the mobile pickup option and don’t even look up when they snatch it from the counter by the door.

“Nice diversion, but we’re circling back to Shane after I answer.”

I hum, noncommittal.

While Delilah gushes over Piper’s ballet and jazz routines before retelling the hilarious, yet adorable, hijinks from the five-year-old class, I finish mopping. I’d usually be done and home in flannel pajamas by now, but taking breaks to calculate insulin for my meals instead of carelessly choking down a granola bar while I vacuum has slowed the process.

“Back to Shane,” Delilah announces after finishing her story.

I groan. “It’s not going to happen. You need to let it go.”

“Willow, I’m married with a kid. You have to let me live vicariously through you.”

“Hey,” I hear Adam grumble from the background.

Muffled sounds come over my earbud like Delilah put the phone to her chest before I hear a distinct kissing sound.

“As I was saying...”

Clearly, it’s time to nip this in the bud once and for all.

“It doesn’t matter if Shane was incredibly caring despite having honey badger energy, that kind of man is out of my reach.”