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There were benefits to being best friends with a man—gender roles never registered.

I’d barnacled myself to Lincoln Foxx, but the payoff was that he’d done the same.

Taking out our frustrations on the world meant riding fast and punching things instead of gossiping and shopping.

It was the unspoken agreement Lincoln and I always had—if you needed to cry, do it while punching something.

Or swinging an axe. Or slinging rocks at things that would shatter.

My best friend was the one thing my father and Switcher never accounted for.

He and his brothers and grandfather did something that I hadn’t even realized until this moment: Turned me more into a Foxx than a Finch.

Shifting my eyes to the left, I remembered how many steps it was from the archway of the farthest horse stall to the double doors that led out to the open fields of paddocks.

My car was parked not far from there, and the keys were in the cup holder.

Switcher had an easy 100 pounds on me, but the look on the idiot's face gave nothing away, other than the fact that remorse was nowhere in sight.

This fueled him. He looked proud of his choices tonight, which meant I would never feel bad about mine.

The clanking of his oversized belt buckle was as loud and motivating as the bugle that started the Kentucky fucking Derby. I couldn’t hesitate, or second guess, I could only make it hurt. And then, run.

A fire alarm jolts me, and I clasp my chest, sitting up fast. The breeze is pleasant up here in the late spring months, before the humidity settles into the rooftop.

I came to my apartment to pack a few things to bring to Ace’s.

I couldn’t keep sleeping in his shirts and, eventually, I’d want the rest of the things that keep me feeling good—makeup, perfume, baseball jerseys, boots and heels.

The sound of pages flapping in the breeze has me glancing at my little black book that must have fallen.

It’s still open on the page where I had been listing out all the summertime things that made me smile.

Firecracker ice-pops, the smell of coconut sunscreen, watching lightning bugs wander in the dark.

I had been replaying the rules in my mind, and the idea of marriage jogged enough of my memories to knock me back to a night I try my hardest to forget.

The door to my roof deck swings open with the breeze.

The weather is always ornery in spring, and today the wind moved throughout Fiasco like it has something to say.

There isn’t much up here yet. The winter igloo that had been here, I took down to prep for the lounge chairs, minibar, and plunge pool that I usually set up for summer.

I lean along the edge, the chest-height bricks making it so this space isn’t dangerous, even if I’m tipsy.

Up here, that's been pretty often. The fire station stands across the street and is the gut-check reminder that I need to talk with Hawk.

Too much has happened, and he needs a heads-up.

I swallow the dread of having to do it, but I press the bell that connects from here to the fire station.

A fun detail that I branded my Pool Boy Bell.

It was how Chief Hawkins and I ended up flirting our way into bed together.

I press the bell two more times, but it’s one of the new recruits that comes out of the station’s side door. I call out, “Hey, is Chief there?”

He looks around and then up at me. “Nah, he’s out of town with his brother for a family thing. Should be back in a few days. Want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”

“All good,” I shout back.

Pulling out my phone, I plan to send him a follow-up text from earlier, but Lincoln’s name and face pop up on the screen.

When I answer, it’s like picking up a conversation that was already in progress.

I make my way through my apartment and try hoisting as many bags as possible along each shoulder, crook of each elbow, and the free hand that isn’t holding the phone.

“Tell me again why you aren’t coming with us tomorrow morning to visit Dottie’s siblings?

” Lincoln asks. And without letting me get a word in, he says, “Lark and Lily wanted me to remind you that you’re the unofficial auntie of the world’s sweetest highland cow, and you are, by their laws, obligated to come with us whenever we visit her home turf.

” Dammit, I don’t want to lie here. He’s going to find out soon enough anyway.

So as I toss the bags into my trunk, I settle on, “Tell the girls next time.”

“I call bullshit,” he says in one breath while, in the next, he’s negotiating with one of his girls about whose turn it is to choose take-out tonight. “What are you doing right now?” he asks me.

He’s going to freak out. “Had to pack a few things.” As I sit in the car, I wait for his next question.

“Why? Where are you going?” His eyebrows scrunch, and he stares at me with that look that says, I better not be the last person to know what you’re doing.

I tip my head back on the headrest and take a deep breath, bracing for what I’m going to say. “Promise me you will not freak out.”

“Lily, you chose last time,” he shouts in my ear.

His face is frozen on screen with one eye closed and a stink face.

I can’t help but laugh. “I need to talk to Hadley,” he tells them.

“Fight it out.” Then he’s moving through the house, going outside, and closing the door behind him.

“Alright. You should not start off a conversation like that, by the way.”

“I’m doing something...with Ace,” I say, as if it’s a confession and not a statement.

I’m met with silence and his face unmoving, only this time, I don’t think his screen froze. I’ve rendered him speechless.

“Are you there?” I ask a beat later.

“I’m listening,” he says quickly. “It feels like there’s more you’re not saying.” His hand flaps over his mouth in surprise before he gets even more dramatic. “Wait! Holy shit, Hadley. Did you tell him? Please tell me you finally told him how you feel.”

I clear my throat and grab a handful of the sour cherry candies that Laney brought during her last visit. Closing my eyes, I spill it. “We’re getting married.”

He stops whatever he was doing and blinks at me. A moment later, his face bounces on screen, as if he’s rushing off somewhere. “What do you mean, you’re getting married?”

“There aren’t too many meanings other than that?—”

He holds up his hand, pointing at the screen.

“No! You don’t get to be sarcastic when you drop a mic like that.

” Turning back, he flings open the door and shouts, “Faye, I’ll be back in a few minutes!

” I hear her in the background, and then he’s moving like a maniac again, phone all over the place, before I get a view of the ceiling of his Jeep. “Where is he?”

“Right now? My guess is the distillery.”

“You’re getting married?” He sniffs out a not-so-amused laugh. “Are you pregnant, or is this just a convenient business deal?” Quirking his eyebrow, he looks back down at the screen, still driving. “Wait, why am I not invited?”

“I’m not pregnant,” I huff. “I think it’s hilariously very 80s of you to think that getting pregnant means I’d get married too.”

“Hadley!” he rushes out, groaning as he smacks the wheel.

“And no, fine! It’s mostly a business deal.

” That’s the truth. For me, at least, this is convenient and a smart move, but I’ve been low-key obsessed with Atticus Foxx for longer than I would ever admit.

“And we’re not making this a real wedding because.

..because this isn’t about love. And I can’t.

..” My eyes water. I want to say, I can’t think of it as real .

Or, I can’t be too happy . Or, I can’t pretend it’s not exactly what I’ve always wanted .

I hate how pathetic that makes me feel. I can’t allow myself to lean into it.

If Lincoln or anyone else important were there, I’d start thinking it wasn’t laced with so many layers of complication.

I’m a smart, strong, and practical woman.

The hopeful romantic that lingers below my surface and claws often at my choices for substituting sex for love is unsettled by all of this.

It all sounded very logical when I asked the first time.

And the second. But right now, I’m wondering if I can keep my feelings for Ace seemingly fake.

“You never answered me. Does he know?” His body sways, and I watch as he parks and gets out of his car. The dark building and the lantern poles are seemingly familiar.

“Where are you right now?” I ask, a bit nervous. Lincoln is nothing if not a protective friend.

“Does. He. Know?” he asks again with gritted teeth.

I can’t help but let out a laugh. Lincoln frustrated and slightly angry always makes me laugh a little. The truth is, I never explicitly talked with him about my feelings for Ace, but he pays attention.

“Hadley, I know you. And I trust that you know what you’re doing. But I also know him...” He doesn’t say anything else after that. Instead, my best friend in the entire world says exactly what I need him to. “You tell me whatever you want. A party. A minute. I got you, Hads.”

“I want this more than anything,” I say honestly.

“Him. This...” I hunt for the right word.

“This arrangement, and I need you to not do whatever it is you’re planning to do at the distillery.

” I know full-well he’s going to lace into his brother.

“And then, you need to be the world’s biggest cheerleader.

And welcome your newest sister-in-law into the family. ”

“Already done.” He smiles.

As soon as he hangs up, I look at my reflection in my rearview mirror.

“I’m getting married . . .” I whisper to myself.

I’m in my mid-thirties and drowning in the aftermath of my father’s sins.

I’ve earned the laugh lines around my mouth.

I look pretty good, considering the lack of sleep I’ve had over the course of the past year, but I stare at myself and feel proud.

I’ve built a successful business, cultivated and nurtured friendships, had vast sexual experiences that have allowed me to discover what I like and what I could salute to and never do again.

I’m proud of who I am, and yet, I wonder if, at the end of this, I’ll look the same.