Beverly doesn't bother trying to hide the way her smile turns up slightly at the corners when he touches her knee. He's never made her feel weird, never looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable or seemed like was going to push or expect anything of her. That's nice, and new, and a feeling worth holding onto, especially with a subject like this at hand. There are things she's never going to be comfortable talking about, but maybe they're better off not being buried. He told her something huge, something potentially game-changing.

As much as she doesn't want to scare him off, she doesn't want him to feel lied to later, either. If it's going to make a difference, that would probably be the case no matter when she tells him.

"I guess I spent so much time around assholes that I didn't want to be one, too," she says, sheepish but a little pleased. "Between the kids at school, and then everything at home..." Glancing at the ground — or, rather, the roof under them — she bites her lip. "It's probably not great date conversation. Kind of a mood killer."