“No, I’m pretty sure that’s unique to only you,” Avery says, laughing lightly. She seems nervous, and damn if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“So, you took off last night. I didn’t get to ask you, what’d you think?” I really want to have this conversation with Avery alone, but I don’t get a sense that she’s going to let that happen anytime soon, so I dive right in.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Max was up late and Claire took him home. I kind of wanted to get home, too—you know, so I could be with him,” she says, and I’m sitting at the edge of my stool, just waiting for her to say something about my song, my choice of song. And that damn bomb I dropped in front of everyone.

“Sure, I understand,” I say, smiling with my eyes wide. Still waiting. She senses my prodding, and I feel like a jerk that I have to beg her to tell me I was good.

“You were great, by the way. I knew you would be. See? I told you,” she says, picking up her plate and walking it to the kitchen. That’s it? I was great, she was right? No reaction to the fact that I pretty much publicly asked her to let me kiss her?

“She’s right, Mason. You were you last night. That’s the Mason I remember playing here, the kid I rolled out there for the world to see,” Ray says, standing behind me and giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Whataya say? You wanna try that again, say next weekend?”

“Uh, hell yeah!” I respond. I’d do it every night if Ray would let me. But I know he has a pretty long waiting list. The fact that I get the prime spot whenever I want says something about how the man feels about me, and I’m honored.

It’s just me and Max, and our pancakes now, so I take this opportunity to see what Max thinks.

“I’m glad you were here last night Max. What did you think?” I ask, hoping that this progress he and I have made keeps moving in this direction. I’m still surprised when he puts his fork down and acknowledges me.

“It was a Saturday, and I like when I get to sit up later. It was good,” he says, before picking up his fork to finish his last few bites. Sometimes I think Max isn’t so different from other five-year-olds, he just doesn’t have the filter that blocks out the honesty. Sure, Max thought last night was great—he got to sit up past his bedtime. The fact that I happened to be playing music in the background is meaningless to the fact that he got a couple extra hours of iPad game time. And I don’t blame him a bit.

“Yeah, last night was pretty awesome,” I say, smiling to myself, and stuffing the rest of my tasteless pancake into my mouth.

I pick up my plate and ask Max if I can take his. I figure he doesn’t mind when he pushes it to the side toward me then goes right back to the iPad. I sort of wish his mom was just as direct. Might make figuring out where I stand a whole hell of a lot easier.

Avery’s washing up the plates in the kitchen. I pass Ray when I take mine over, and I could swear he gives me a signal with his glance, urging me to talk to his daughter. There’s also a good chance I’m imagining Ray’s approval—truthfully, disappointing him—again!—scares the hell out of me. And I can’t think of anything that would disappoint him more than me chasing after Avery.

I start to help with the plates, but she just grabs mine from my hand and smiles curtly. It almost felt…hostile.

“Okay…uh, thanks,” I say, taking a few steps back to the door. I stop, though, mid-stride and close my eyes. Come on, don’t be a pu**y. I come back and lean on the edge of the nearby counter, close enough to make her noticeably shift her weight. “So…what did you really think? I heard what you said. You thought it was good. And thank you. I appreciate that. But…now that we’re not at the bar…with your family…”

She finishes the last plate and turns the faucet off, but she keeps her gaze focused on the damn soapy water, her hands wringing the sponge dry. She looks so uncomfortable that it has me just wanting to retreat—but I’m in too far. And I’d regret turning back.

“I want to know the things you can’t say…in front of them,” I lean in closer while I ask this, and her breath halts. I swear her fingers are trembling, and it’s making me want to reach out and touch her, just to let her know it’s safe.

It feels like forever until she finally exhales. And just when I don’t think she’s going to acknowledge it—directly—she does.

“Don’t do this, Mason,” her eyelids flit, almost as if it’s with exhaustion. I’m so taken off guard with her response, I react immediately.