Sometimes she forgot that part herself. At twenty-one, she'd expected to be in college, almost ready to take on the world. She'd expected to feel like an adult, like there was some magic difference, readily discerned. The way she'd been a teenager, though, it didn't seem like much had changed, except that the world had gotten inexplicably simpler without becoming any easier.

"A little old-fashioned," she noted, brow arching and lips pursing as she considered this, or pretended to. "Which he'd appreciate. You don't need to worry about him."