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"I wasn't snooping," Libby clarified when she turned back around.

"I didn't think you were," Reagan replied as she towel-dried her hair, looking even cuter than usual. "I guess I should've told you before unilaterally changing the agreement." She spoke in her very diplomatic way. "It just didn't feel right to cash them after I'd stopped pretending."

Reagan's words cut straight through Libby's chest bone and struck her heart like a well-aimed arrow. "But these are for a bunch of months. Even before we kissed."

Reagan smiled, flashing her irresistible dimples. "What can I say? You hooked me pretty early on. My feelings for you have been real for . . .” She glanced at the checks in Libby’s hand. “For however long that is.”

Lunging forward, Libby wrapped her arms around Reagan’s neck and kissed her. Keeping her mouth occupied was the only way to stop herself from blurting out that she loved her.

C H A P T E R 3 1

RESTING her head against the window of her SUV as she waited in bumper-to-bumper tra c, Libby thought of Reagan. An eternal, sleepless night in her own bed had left her groggy and cold. She’d longed for the earthy scent of Reagan’s makeshift apartment. The constant warmth of Reagan’s body pressed against hers. The heart-stopping music of her laugh.

Libby’s heart ached. They hadn’t been apart twelve hours yet, but she needed to hear the sound of her voice. Her grandmother’s voice in her head was deafening. Even the most exquisite ingredients will be ruined if the recipe is rushed.

She resisted the urge to reach for the phone.

You’re so pathetic, she chided as she reached for her tumbler of co ee instead. Not even the jet fuel inside did anything to brighten her mood.

Maybe if they had definite plans to see each other again she wouldn’t be so consumed with nausea and dread. When they’d lingered by Reagan’s door the night before, they’d whispered promises to see each other again soon. On Libby’s drive home, Reagan had kept her company on the phone.

They’d talked about nothing for hours until Libby started yawning and they noticed the time. As soon as they’d hung up, Libby wanted to call her back. Like a lovesick teenager,

she wanted to stay on the phone with her all night and instantly regretted leaving her bed.

Now, inching along the city streets, Libby had to actively stop herself from turning her car around and heading for the highway toward the old manufacturing district she never imagined might contain her future.

Shaking her head, as if that could actually dislodge the thoughts and desires taking up all the room, Libby sat up straight.

“Let’s use this tra c time wisely,” she muttered to herself and fished her phone out of her purse.

Without letting herself feel disappointed that a message from Reagan wasn’t waiting for her, she snapped her phone into the holster on her dash and played a short, five-minute meditation. She only made it a little under a minute without thinking about Reagan, but she took it as a win.

In the slivers of time between unstoppable daydreams, Libby thought of something to occupy her mind while she crawled to work. Turning o the meditation, she opened her dictation app and started brainstorming a new blog idea.

“Ten ways not to be clingy when you’re kind of lovesick and all you want to do is be with the target of your a ection even if it means forgoing all other responsibilities and ending up living under a bridge.” The title would be refined later, but getting her feelings out moved the ache in her chest to a flutter in her stomach.

“This is awful,” she decided. “Why do people want to feel this way?”

The unease and anxiety were nothing like what she’d experienced with Davis. She’d always been happy to see him and attracted to him when he was being particularly charming. When they were apart, she thought about him and wanted to see him again. But it was just that . . . a want. What

she felt now was more like a physiological high jacking of her brain and nervous system.

After another sip of overly acidic co ee, Libby started again. “One, meditate. It can be as easy as concentrating on one full breath. Then another.”

Taking her own advice, Libby took a few cleansing breaths.

“Two, plan some time with your friends,” she said before making a mental note to set up a virtual happy hour with Zena later. They’d been playing phone tag since her visit, and Libby hadn’t been doing her best to keep up her end of the game.

“Three, move your body! To the extent you’re able, get some exercise. If you can’t, just a little change of scenery could help keep you distracted. Go outside and be present.

That reminds me. I should definitely book a Pilates class,”

she muttered before asking Siri to call the studio she hadn’t visited in months.

By the time she’d brainstormed a few more ideas she intended to use for herself, the crushing discomfort she’d woken up with had been mitigated to a milder condition.

She’d just pulled into her building’s p