The shop was empty and had been all day. Verity had the day off, and Fred and I were leaning on the counter going over the registers. I heard the door open and looked up. "Alicia . . ."

"George." She attempted to smile, then, as an afterthought, added, "Fred."

He stood up straight and flipped the register we were currently looking at shut. "Well, I can see where my place is in this conversation--in the office!" He picked up the book and hurried into the office we shared, shutting the door behind him.

"What are . . . what can I . . ." I stammered, trying to make some opening, but no words seemed to fit.

Part of my brain told me that things shouldn't be awkward between us at this point. We'd come to a sort of understanding that last time we spoke, the last time we were together, and I, for one, felt much easier about everything that had happened. We both knew where the other was coming from, and there was comfort in that. Even if it was pain, and anger, and hurt. It was so easy to relate to.

I'd asked her to stay with me that night, even after the sex, to simply stay in my bed and in my arms, to comfort and to be comforted, and she had. She'd made me coffee in the morning, then left with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek. And I was okay with that. It suited both our needs.

You'd think it would make things easier, that we could talk now, go back to being friends like we'd been for years.

But it wasn't easier; it was only different. We were friends, but more than, less than, something else entirely. And I had no idea what to say to her.

"It's all right. I don't really know what to say either." She crossed the floor of the shop and stood in front of me, the counter separating us a small space. "I just wanted to . . . to see how you were. This week has been . . . hard."

"They're all hard, anymore, but I'm fine."

"Fine? Really?"

"Well," I shrugged, "the same. How about you?"

It was her turn to shrug. "The same."

"Guess we can't really ask for more than that at this point."

"No, I guess not." We stood there for a moment, me picking at a notch in the counter with my thumb, Alicia fingering the hem of her jumper, neither of us sure of where to go next. Then all of a sudden she said, "There is something I've been thinking about though."

"Oh?"

"I just thought, well, it occurred to me that you might . . . need . . . want . . . someone . . . to talk to." I didn't respond, so she added, "I might." I think she took my lack of response for unwillingness, or misunderstanding. "I mean, I know you've got Fred, but I thought maybe . . . if you'd like . . . I could cook . . . or something. I'm gathering that you don't really like breakfast all that much, but I am a decent cook, and I could make us dinner, and we could just . . . you could . . ."

"Just ask."

"You should stay with me."