“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Zach.”

 “You can ask me anything,” I reassure her, welcoming the change in subject.

 “Are you sure I’ll not be, um, cramping your style by moving in?”

 “My style?”

 “You’re a bachelor with the proverbial empty nest. Surely, that makes dating easier.”

I nearly sputter my tea at the ridiculousness of dating. Not that I haven’t given it a shot through the years. Frankie had set me up once or twice, and I went through the motions, mostly so my daughter can see that I’m “trying.”

“I haven’t really dated,” I state simply.

“Do you want to?” Charlotte asks while she refills her water bottle.

“No,” I state honestly. “I’d have no idea how my schedule could get any tighter. Besides, although Frankie didn’t really need me to look after her, I wanted to spend my time enjoying her last few years of high school.”

Charlotte takes a step closer and squeezes my forearm.

“You’re an amazing father. But even Frankie is worried that…” she stops abruptly as if realizing she was disclosing something private.

“She’s worried about what?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, but I expect her to finish her sentence.

Charlotte stares at me unblinkingly. I’m struck by the darkening of her eyes, normally the color of summer sky. We’re standing so close, I can see the slight trickle of maple syrup over her right breast. I mean chest.

 “I’d prefer if you didn’t tell Frankie about this conversation. Not that she thinks it’s a secret. Though it is rather, um, personal.”

“Charlotte, just tell me.” Even a whisper can sound like an order.

“In the same way you’re worried about how her life is going in college, she’s worried that you don’t have anything outside of hockey. You have no way of… of relaxing. Especially now that she’s away, will you take time for yourself?”

“She told you all this?”

“She’s hinted at this through the years, but since she’s started college? Yes. She’s expressed her worry.”

Dammit, I don’t want my daughter to worry about me. It’s my job to worry about her.

“I take time for myself just fine,” I state primly.

“How?”

“I don’t see what taking time for myself has to do with dating people,” I mumble instead of answering her question. My tone is not at all defensive.

Charlotte’s mouth twitches. “You know how that sounds, right?”

“What—” Oh. I stare at her.

“Did you just make a masturbation reference?”

She doesn’t even pretend to deny it. “Is it premature to tease my landlord?”

I ignore her emphasis on premature although my lips tug at the corners. “I’m not your landlord. I am your housemate. And absolutely too early for those kind of, um, jokes.”

“Noted,” she says solemnly, though her eyes dance with mischeif.

“Is it too late to draft a contract clause that prohibits…” I pause.

“Self-care jokes in shared spaces?” Charlotte fills in. “Hmmm. Are we talking verbal references, or—”

“Charlotte.”

“I’m just asking about the scope,” she says, eyes blinking innocently. “Clarity matters.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a quiet-hours policy,” I say dryly. “Especially anything that requires privacy. Or batteries.”

Bright laughter bursts out of her. “Wow. You escalated that fast.”

“You started it.”

“I absolutely did.” She grins. “You walked directly into it.”

“Story of my life.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her chin with her knuckles. “So, no jokes about alone time, stress relief, or vigorous solo hobbies?”

“Correct.”

“What about metaphors?”

“I despise metaphors,” I state with mock vehemence.

She sighs. “This house is going to be very repressed.”

“Or very respectful,” I counter.

Her smile mirrors my own. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Something shifts. I’m once again struck by the fact that my housemate is not a young girl who needs shelter and protection. Far from it. Charlotte is a confident, wise-cracking woman who doesn’t back down. I’m intriguied by her sharp wit and daring jokes. The combination of playful teasing and sexual innuendos is new for me. I clear my throat to buffer my surprised pleasure.

“Anyway. Ground rules are important.”

“Agreed,” she says over her shoulder while she walks away. “I like knowing where the edge is.”