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“You said it was a Minnesota thing.”

“It is.”

“But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

I stare at her for a second.

Fucking observant woman.

“Yeah. It was Wayne’s favorite.”

Her expression softens immediately.

“My mom used to make it all the time because he requested it constantly, and I’d help when we were kids, although help is probably generous. Mostly I put the tots on top because that was apparently the only part I could be trusted with.”

I smile, but the memory sits differently now that I’ve actually said his name this many times in one morning.

“After Wayne died, I stopped eating it because even the smell was enough to bring everything back. I tried making it once after I left home and ended up throwing the whole thing away before I could eat any of it.”

Quinn is quiet for a moment before her eyes meet mine. “And then you made it for me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I think about it. “I don’t know. I didn’t sit down and think, You know what would really move this relationship forward? Childhood grief casserole.”

A laugh bursts out of her. “I didn’t think so.”

“For real?” I look down at our joined hands. “I just wanted to. I hadn’t made it in years, and then you came along, and for some reason I wanted to make it again. I wanted you to have it.”

Her eyes get suspiciously shiny. “Wyatt, can I say something without you immediately getting defensive?”

“That depends entirely on what you’re about to say.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She keeps looking at me until I sigh. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“I think you should talk to someone.”

My first instinct is exactly what she predicted. My shoulders tense, and about five different jokes line up in my head, but for once, I don’t use any of them.

Instead, I look down at Pickles. “I have before.”

“A therapist?”

“Yeah. After Wayne died. My mom made sure I went for a while, but I didn’t exactly make it easy. Mostly I sat there waiting for the hour to be over.”

“You were grieving.”

“I was also stubborn as fuck.”

“I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you, Wyatt. I just think you’ve spent a really long time making sure you don’t have to deal with any of this. You don’t go home, you don’t talk about Wayne, you stopped making food you loved because it reminded you of him, and the other day you heard ice crack and froze in the middle of the rink.”

I stare at the floor because when she puts it all together like that, it’s pretty fucking hard to argue with.