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The more Libby rambled in a deep, hoarse voice, the more Reagan wanted to be in her presence and ease her nerves. “I can’t lie to your grandma like that,” she joked. “Plus, I already rescheduled my classes for today.”

Libby groaned as she winced. “I am so hugely sorry. I’ll absolutely compensate you for whatever income you lost today.”

The mention of money was a sharp jab to the gut. Libby couldn’t possibly believe she was still laboring under contractual obligations, could she? Even after the kiss? Even after they’d admitted liking each other?

“Don’t worry about it. They were by donation. Nothing lost,” she replied sti y. “Can I come in?”

“Oh God, yes. I’m sorry.” Libby jumped back and out

of the doorway. “I don’t know where my head is.”

“Then I guess it’s good I’m here,” she replied, following Libby inside after closing the door. “Why don’t you go sit in there. I’m going to make you something.”

Libby wore a suspect expression as she slinked away to the couch but sat sideways so they could maintain eye contact while Reagan started unloading the bag.

Reagan pulled out a bag of limes. “La Señora Cassanova had very specific instructions.”

“I can’t believe she called you.” Libby looked like she wanted to crawl under the cushions. “You honestly don’t have to—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “I’m here because I want to be, okay? Now be a better patient or I’m going to call your grandmother. And she’s apparently so terrifying that your doorman let me in the second she called.”

“You would tattle on me?” Libby shrieked. “How could you?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get this concoction in you. No holds barred,” Reagan replied with a casual shrug. “Do you think she expects visual proof? Should I send her a picture?”

Libby chuckled until she coughed. “She hates texting. It’s the enemy of true connection. I can’t guarantee she won’t call you later for a report, but I’ll try to head her o at the pass.”

Reagan found a pot and started heating some water. “I don’t mind,” she decided. “It’s very sweet how concerned she sounded.”

Cocking her head to one side, Libby raised both eyebrows.

“No one has ever called my grandmother sweet. Like . . .

ever.”

“Maybe I looked beyond her intimidating exterior and saw a loving grandmother worried about her favorite grandchild,” she suggested as she started slicing limes and squeezing the juice into a mug.

Reagan watched Libby out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t tell what made her deflate and retreat. Something was going on with her, she could feel it from the moment Libby turned on her heels and bolted after their kiss. She wanted to ask, wanted to know why she’d avoided her yesterday and where she’d been last night. The mud-caked high heels by the door said she’d done more than driven from her o ce’s parking garage to the condo’s garage.

Instead of asking her anything, she practiced patience even though it was hard and finished making her drink.

“I can’t believe she called you and told you to make me this,” Libby said as she pressed the hot mug to her chest and inhaled the steam.

“Don’t tell her I added a little ginger. That’s my grandma’s contribution,” Reagan smiled as she folded one leg underneath herself and sat across from her on the couch.

When Libby took a hesitant sip, she closed her eyes as if to savor it. “This tastes amazing,” Libby said, gazing at her with half-lidded eyes. “There has to be a few more secrets than ginger in here.”

Reagan smiled. “Local honey from a friend’s farm. Limes purchased from a dude on the side of the road on my way here. And the ginger is all the way from Trader Joes.”

“Oooh . . . imported. Fancy,” she replied, sounding a little more like herself as she made her way through the contents of her mug. “I don’t deserve this you know,” Libby said as she set the empty mug on a coaster on her co ee table.

“Deserve what?” The tiny hairs on the back of Reagan’s neck stood on end. She didn’t like the shift in Libby’s energy or the way she averted her eyes and stared at the floor.

Libby dropped her shoulders and sni ed. “You are being so sweet to me after I’ve been such a jerk to you.”

Reagan didn’t disagree. “Most women don’t kiss me and then semi-ghost me, that’s true.” She tried to sound like she was joking, but there was a tinge of hurt in her tone. “I could admit it didn’t feel great, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Grimacing, Libby shook her head. “I’ve never been a flake,” she explained, pausing as if gathering strength. “I’m never out of control.”