I'm not sleeping and I'm not taking the sleeping pills. So maybe everyone's right and I do have self-destructive tendencies.

     I have an appointment with Ashley today and I need it to at least look like I got a decent amount of sleep last night. Which I didn't. The weather was mild and so I spent a good portion of the night outside jogging.

     I've had two coffees before I show up to Ashley's at the same time she does. I feel good, but I'm pretty certain that's just the caffeine.

     She gets settled at her desk and then rests her eyes on me, looking for the lie. I'm good at hiding, have always been, so she doesn't find it. "How are you doing? Resting better?"

     "Last week was definitely draining, but yeah, I've been getting good sleep the last couple of days," I tell her. Partial honesty makes the whole thing sound like a truth.

     "How do you feel about Saturday night?"

     "I was really nervous but now that I've done it, I think — no, I know, it's what I want to focus on. I enjoyed cooking in that way."

     "As opposed to the baking?" she asks. I nod. "Do you think you'd like to give up the baking?"

     "No, I can't do that," I say.

     "Can't because you don't want to or because you feel obligated to keep it?"

     "You know I gave him my word," I say quietly.

     "You don't owe anyone anything, Dresden," she responds like it's that simple. "You need to put yourself first. You never do."

     "Private Weston's doesn't make me unhappy. I enjoy what I do."

     "But you want more," she says.

     "But I want more," I agree.

     "There's nothing wrong with that."

     "I don't want to close down Weston's."

     "Okay, so what can we do? How do we make it possible for you to keep Weston's and do what you love?"

     "I'm doing it," I say. "That's what After Hours are for."

     "How long is two nights out of the month going to satisfy you?"

     "I don't know," I respond with a shrug. "But I'd prefer not to worry about it at present."

     She makes a note in her book. I sometimes wonder what she actually writes, but I'm nearly positive it's just reminders for things we need to revisit. "Okay," she says. "So then what about Cas?" She doesn't need to remind herself to revisit Cas.

     I raise an eyebrow, innocently. "What about Cas?"

     Ashley gives me a look, similar to the ones that women in my life seem insistent on giving me. "Have you two talked?"

     "Not the way we should have," I say. "But slow progress."

     "So what does that mean exactly?"

     I stare at the floor hard, trying to put into words what it means, exactly. "He knows I came out there once. He knows his mom saw me."

     "Did you tell him why you lied about re-enlisting?" she asks. I shake my head. "So I'm going to assume you didn't tell him that you found the letters from USC, either?"

     I shake my head again. "We haven't gotten that far."

     "Alright, so homework," she says.

     "I'd rather not," I say before she's even assigned said homework.

     She ignores me. "Your homework is to have this conversation with him. I saw him Saturday night. I think you're underestimating what he can handle. I believe you both can have that conversation as two mature adults."

     "Things are...calming down between us right now. I think I'd just like to keep it that way."

     "And while I can understand that. That calm doesn't last. Cas needs to know the truth and you need to get it off your chest."

     I nod because she's right about that. It's all I think about and I'd like to dedicate some time to thinking about literally anything else. "Okay, I will have that talk with him."

     She points at me. "I'm holding you to it."

     Cas shows up that night as Weston's is closing. I'm clearing out the displays and when I come back in for the next tray, I find him leaning against the counter talking to Rumi who's laughing. He stops when I get up to the them. Rumi smiles, close-mouthed, and says, "Cas just told me about the time he broke the espresso machine and you couldn't get near it because it wouldn't stop steaming." She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

     "Just one of the many Calvin Sumner fiascos this place has seen," he says and his tone is upbeat, brighter then I'm expecting considering where we left things with our last conversation. Maybe he's saving face for Rumi. I wonder what he's doing here. It's early if he's trying to fuck around.

     "My favorite is the time Cas, here, thought he lost a bandaid in the coffee grinds," I say cheekily.

     He rolls his eyes for the effect, I think. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

     "Only to find, after tossing several batches, that he'd actually taken the bandaid off before shift."

     He looks at Rumi as he says with a noncommittal shrug, "You lose one bandaid."

     "You never lost the bandaid!"

     Rumi is outright laughing now and Cas is near-grinning. Belatedly, I realize this is revisiting history. I guess it's okay when there's an audience.

     I grab the last tray and head back towards the kitchen. I can hear Cas's footsteps behind me. He's still in his scrubs so I take it he's just getting off of work. Or maybe he's getting on for an overnight shift.

     I set the tray down on the counter and turn to look at him. He has to be here for a reason.

     "Did my mom know?" he asks. "She says she didn't. But I'm not really apt to believe her."

     I shake my head. "She didn't know. When I showed up at your place, she asked questions but I didn't answer any of them. I told her I didn't want her to be in a compromising position."

      "But you asked her not to tell me you'd been there," he points out.

      "Any more of a compromising position," I correct. "Don't be mad at her, Cas."

      "I'm mad at everyone," he snaps.

     "Your mother loves you. She just wanted what was best for you."

     "And what did you want?" he asks.

     "I wanted what was best for you, too."

     "You had a funny way of showing it."

     "I'm—."

     "Don't."

     "Can I just?"

     Cas shakes his head. "No. I don't — it's just too much for tonight. Okay?"

     I nod. "Okay." When he doesn't move, I find myself asking, sort of thoughtlessly. "Are you hungry?"

     "What? No, why do you always ask that?"

     "Because you look hungry."

     Both his eyebrows sink low on his face. "What does that mean?"

     I realize insulting him is probably not the right move here, but I also feel like I can't not say anything. "You've lost weight."

     Cas glances down at himself. "Yeah, I work long hours and I don't know how to cook and I'm tired of eating hospital food."

     I figured as much was true. "So are you hungry then?"

     "I don't need you to feed me," Cas snaps. I know that if I'm going to make a difference here I'm going to have to come at it from a different angle. One I don't particularly want to take but Cas doesn't want my concern and he certainly doesn't want me taking care of him.

     "It's not a good look," I say, dreading every word. Wanting to swallow them whole. He tips his head, confused. "The weight loss. It's not a good look."

     "Wow, well, fuck you, too," he says and he stomps back out of the kitchen.

     I hate this.