Page 14 of Roommating

I do a quick search for Henry on my phone. “He’s thirty-eight. Way older than Adam. You’re safe!”

Marcia spoons ice cream into her mouth. “Still younger than my son.”

I wave my plastic spoon. “Age-gap romances are on trend. And no one would bat an eye if you were a man. Fuck the patriarchy!”

Marcia chuckles. “Isn’t that the truth!” She swings her head from side to side, taking in the crowded shop and the hordes of people outside walking along East Seventh Street. “This was a great idea. Much better than being cooped up at home.”

I rub my lips together. “Do you think Adam will be insulted we didn’t invite him?” When he moved in, I worried that I would lose out on time alone with Marcia and am glad that’s not the case. But even on his first day, he invited me to join them for breakfast. He wasn’t home when we left, but we could have texted him to meet us.

“He’s out exploring. Did you know he’s been doing that for a fewhours almost every day since he’s been here? He has no fear! Just jumps on the subway and takes off to parts unknown.” She beams.

I repress a giggle. Adam’s a grown man, and Marcia’s proud of his independence like he’s a teenager. My stomach dips at the reminder that she didn’t get to see this transition firsthand. I spoon the last bit of ice cream into my mouth and slump against the back of my plastic yellow chair with a groan. “Why do weekends go by so fast?”

Marcia shrugs. “Sundays are like every other day when you’re retired.”

I huff a breath out my nose. “Show-off!”

She grins. “I’d rather be young again, but this retirement thing is a nice perk.” She glances out the window again and back to me. “Shall we?”

I agree, and less than a minute later we’re on our way out the door. “Let’s take a picture first.”

I wait for Marcia to smooth down her hair and refresh her lipstick. When she’s ready, I position us next to the giant ice cream cone hanging from the entrance and take a selfie that I post in my IG stories with the caption, “Rom-com and ice cream date with my roomie.” At the last minute, I add Taylor Swift’s “It’s Nice to Have a Friend” as background music.

On the next block, I check my notifications and a tingle rushes through me.

Marcia bumps against me and looks over my shoulder with her eyebrows raised. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just getting lots of likes on our picture.” I shove my phone in my jacket pocket before she can see that it was only one like, and it was from Adam.

Chapter Eight

Ican’t believe how seriously you take this show.”

I remove my intense gaze fromLove Is Blindon the flat screen and turn to Adam, who’s sitting next to me on the opposite end of his couch/bed with an amused expression on his face. We’re exactly two weeks into his stay. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He pulls a face. “Because I seriously doubt most of the contestants are really in it for ‘the right reasons.’” He chomps on a Cheeto from the bag on his lap.

I shift so I’m leaning against the arm of the couch and facing him, knees pulled into my chest. “I, personally, have zero desire to go on television to find love, but the impressive success rate ofLove Is Blindspeaks for itself.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Tell me, Sabrina. Doyouthink love is blind?” The serious tone of his voice is in contrast to the twinkle in his eyes.

“Not necessarily. But Idothink building the emotional connection without preconceived assumptions getting in your way is a good idea.”

“What do you mean by preconceived assumptions?” He extends the bag of Cheetos to me.

I shake my head, declining to partake in what I’ve quickly discovered is Adam’s favorite snack. I can practically hear my sister going on about the dangers of filling your body with processed cheese. “I think people have preconceived notions about what they’re attracted to based on their dating habits. If I’ve always dated guys with blond hair, I might assume someone with brown or red hair isn’t my type and immediately swipe left. But I might be surprised to find that I am wildly attracted to a ginger if we talked for weeks with a wall between us and formed a blind connection first.”

Adam mutes the TV. “Doyou only date guys with blond hair?”

I chew my cheek. If we were at a party or on a first date, I would assume he was flirting and ping back something like, “Notalways.” Or, “I make exceptions sometimes.” Or, “My type is brown hair with red highlights.” All with accompanying sultry eye contact. But I don’t know if Adamisflirting. He might just be making conversation. Whether Ihopehe’s flirting is not something I’m prepared to examine at the moment, even though the answer is a resounding yes. But this living arrangement is not about me and Adam. It’s about Adam and Marcia. The dynamic is tricky, so I simply say, “No.”

He faces the TV again like he’s reluctant to make eye contact. “Whatisyour type?”

And now I’m 95 percent sure heisflirting. Despite my better judgment, my heart skips a beat as the wordyoubegs to fly out of my mouth.

“Sabrina!” Marcia’s voice shrieks from inside her room, blessedly negating my need to answer the question while freaking me out at the same time.

I vault off the couch with my heart in my throat, but I’m not fast enough for Rocket, who comes flying out from the kitchen, wherehe’s been gnawing on the new toy Adam bought him for being a good boy at the groomer. He whines and scratches at her closed door.

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