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Twenty minutes later, she’d imagined a full reunion with her ex-fiancé, makeup sex and all, and filled her garment bag with a variety of outfits. After grabbing a tote full of cosmetics and a hair iron, she was ready to recreate a whole relationship in a single morning.

It was early enough that the drive from her condo to the o ce took less than ten minutes rather than the usual thirty.

As she pulled up to the parking garage, she noticed Reagan waiting in a restored, gleaming orange pickup truck right out of the 1970s. Libby grinned. The cool vehicle suited Reagan perfectly.

After waving for Reagan to follow her in through the gate, Libby gave her the spot reserved for her while she borrowed her grandmother’s designated space.

“You’re here early!” Libby shouted, her voice echoing in the still mostly empty garage, as she approached.

Reagan slipped out of the truck with a smile on her face.

“I had to decide between getting here an hour early or an hour late,” she joked. “If I get it wrong, it can take me an hour just to get out of Hialeah.”

Libby laughed before realizing she was serious. “You don’t really live there, right?”

Reagan raised her thick eyebrows in response.

“I mean, there’s nothing there but factories, mud, and

—”“And a quarter of a million good people doing their best to keep a city full of history alive?” Reagan finished her

sentence but hadn’t guessed correctly. The old joke ended crudely.

Libby had only been to that side of the county once as a child. It was nothing but tra c, incomprehensibly messy city planning, and old warehouses. She didn’t consider herself a snob, but there was a reason the enclave was the butt of every joke. No one she knew visited it, much less lived there. As far as she knew, it was its own planet full of people who had no interest in assimilating. Why someone young and cool like Reagan would choose to live there was unfathomable.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. That just caught me by surprise,” Libby apologized as she tried to get her pointy-toed shoe out of her mouth.

Reagan smiled. “Why? Because I’m not a seventy-five-year-old woman with burgundy hair who doesn’t speak English, so why would I ever want to live in a shithole like Hialeah?” The rhetorical question slapped Libby in the face.

“Don’t worry.” Reagan winked as she grabbed her bags out of the back of the truck. “I’m sure I’ll get the chance to correct all your preppy little assumptions about my hometown.”

Getting called out for her bias would’ve normally triggered a defensive response, but Reagan was so nice in her delivery, it was impossible to be anything but embarrassed by her judgment of a place she had no first-hand experience with.

“I really am sorry,” Libby repeated as they waited for the elevator.

“That was super rude of me.”

“No worries,” Reagan insisted. “We’re made a little tougher in my neighborhood than you Miami girls.” She smirked.

Grateful for the playful gesture, Libby laughed. “Oh, and you think you know where I’m from?” she asked, knowing

she had nothing to back up her sentiment.

They stepped onto the elevator before Reagan replied.

“You’ve got Kendall written all over you. Maybe even Pinecrest, but we haven’t spent enough time together for me to be sure.”

Libby feigned o ense, though the accuracy was surprising. She’d lived in both suburbs but had grown up in the more a uent and exclusive Pinecrest. “You’re so sure about that, huh?”

Reagan’s dark eyes sparkled when she laughed. “I’m willing to bet on it.”

The elevator doors slid open, saving her from admitting Reagan was dead-on correct. In the hazy morning sunrise, the o ce was still dark.

“Looks like we beat Taylor here,” Libby announced as she started flipping on the lights. “I guess we can start with some selfies until she gets here with her camera.”

Reagan lifted one of the bags in her hand. “I brought my own and a tripod. We don’t have to wait if you don’t want to.”

Libby nodded, impressed by her thoughtfulness.