“In your apartment?” Hardin raises his voice, and I start to think maybe this wasn’t the best idea to tell him right now, like this.

“No. In New York. They work together.”

He sighs, and I can only imagine his expression right now. “Have they been . . . you know? Like, dating or something?”

I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to tell you because I think, for your sake, it would be better if you don’t make a big deal out of it. You know, show Tessa you’re maturing and all.”

Also because I don’t want my apartment to be burned to the ground in Hessa World War Two. Of course, if it did burn down, I wouldn’t have this issue between Nora and me every time we’re in the kitchen together . . .

“Maturing? I’m very mature. Fucker.”

“Yeah, I can tell by your extensive vocabulary, fucker,” I tease.

“Listen, man. I’m proud of you for cussing and for half fucking Naomi or Sarah or whatever she’s going to change her name to next week, but I have a call in one minute.”

I can’t help but laugh at his way with words. “Thanks for the help.”

He’s silent for a second. “If you really want to talk about it, I can call you back after?”

His voice is so full of unexpected sincerity that I sit up. “No, it’s fine. I need to get out there and face the music.”

“I hope it’s a death-metal band.”

“Shut up.”

The line goes silent.