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Amber quirks a brow. “You sure you want him to go?”

“Yes, why?”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d check while there’s still time to fix this.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“For a guy with a man bun, I kind of like him. And he didn’t key your Mercedes.”

“Blaze wouldn’t have done that. Present fuckup aside, he’s too nice.”

“Then why am I here? And why are you breaking up with him?”

Olivia quirks a brow. “Seriously?” she asks while at the same time thinking Blaze may be 100 percent accurate. She’s been looking for an excuse to break up and Macey handed one to her in the shape of Shane’s—

Okay, she’s stopping right there.

Either way, a picture is worth a thousand words.

They watch Blaze throw a leg over his bike and the pang of regret in her chest sharpens, though not enough to invite him back or admit she’s wrong.

“You forgot your stuff.” Amber yells the obvious.

“Sure. I’ll pile everything on.” He gestures roughly at his ride and straps on his helmet. “I’ll be back later with my truck. Don’t touch my things.” He flicks down the visor and revs the cycle loud enough to scare off a cluster of blackbirds in the enormous pine across the street. He then flips Olivia his own bird and blows out of there.

Olivia exhales loudly. He’s gone. And she’s free.

She finger combs her hair back, holding the long, cinnamon-brown locks off her forehead, and turns to her friend. Their eyes meet. Amber’s brows lift.

“What?” Olivia barks.

Amber fixes her messy bun and refills her wineglass. She makes a contemplative sound deep in her throat.

“You think he was telling the truth,” Olivia presumes.

Her friend since college freshman orientation sips her wine. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

Olivia settles beside Amber on the porch steps. “He was telling the truth.”

“Yep.”

She extends a skinny jean–clad leg and pulls out the single Marlboro and lighter she’d tucked in her front pocket before Blaze showed up. Sheknew she’d need a smoke after he left, a nasty habit she’d picked up in San Francisco when she worked seventy-plus-hour weeks. Something to take the edge off when exercise and sex couldn’t. The other side of her California king will be cold tonight and exercise isn’t on the agenda. She has too much work to do before she turns into a pumpkin. And that damn recurring nightmare is back. Good thing sleep isn’t a priority.

She lights up and inhales. Sensing Amber’s hesitation, she exhales a long stream of smoke before muttering, “Out with it.”

Amber sighs. “You know Shane’s an idiot—whoa.” She perks up. “Check out that car.”

Olivia looks across the lawn. A pristine, two-door Lincoln Continental pulls up to the curb and rolls to a stop within a hairbreadth of Amber’s red Tesla. The driver, an elderly woman with her nose in the air to peer over the dash and her seat pulled forward enough to kiss the steering wheel, shifts the car into park, leaving the engine to idle.

Amber whistles. “Wow. That car’s mint. ’77 or ’78?”

“Something like that,” Olivia says absently, watching the people inside the metallic blue antique. There’s a kid in the front passenger seat. He can’t be older than fourteen. Probably the woman’s grandson. They stare blatantly at Olivia and Amber through the open passenger window.

“Are you having a yard sale?” the woman asks.

Laughter bubbles from Amber. “Take the lot of it. It’s yours,” she says for Olivia’s ears only.

Olivia’s heart pounds wildly. There’s something familiar about the boy. She nudges Amber’s thigh, a warning to behave. “No, sorry. Cleaning house.”