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  “About that, Megan.” Sasha’s voice was so serious it made Meg stop midchew and stare right at her as she continued. Sasha brushed a strand of her long dark hair away from her face. “I don’t really know that I’ll ever be able to set things right between us. You know, after everything you did for me last year.” She lowered her eyes and used her chopsticks to pinch the last cucumber roll on her tray.

  “Yeah. No sweat,” Meg responded.

  Sasha looked at Meg, her dark eyes slightly challenging Meg’s cavalier response. “I know it couldn’t have been easy. Nigel told me how much you were there. Everything you did. For what it’s worth, I just want to say thank you, in person.” She blinked once and wet her lips. “Thank you and I’m sorry. For any trouble it may have caused you.”

  “It’s okay. Really.” Meg equaled Sasha’s solemn tone. “Actually, I learned a lot, to be honest. Sort of helped me in a way.” She shrugged one shoulder and redirected the conversation. “How is your mother doing?”

  “She’s okay.” Sasha smiled out of one side of her mouth. She looked relieved to have cleared the air, and unbelievably gorgeous as a stream of sunlight lit one half of her face revealing that her eyes were deep blue under long dark lashes. “I’m going home to see her this weekend.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Meg until that very second, but something suddenly dawned on her. “Hey, how come you don’t have a British accent, by the way?” Meg definitely hadn’t heard it the other day, but then Sasha had said so little during their first interaction, Meg thought it possible she’d just missed it. After this much conversation, Meg was sure it wasn’t there at all. She took a swig from her water bottle and waited for an explanation.

  Sasha chewed her food through a huge grin, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she swallowed. She nodded, keeping her mouth closed as she ran her tongue along the sides of her teeth. “I’m from Maryland,” she said with an enormous smile. “Most of us there have American accents. Although”—her voice took on a teasing quality—“we say orange, not ah-runje, like you New Yawkers.”

  “Ha-ha,” Meg responded dryly, but her smile was genuine even through her sarcasm.

  “You thought I was from England?” Sasha crinkled her forehead in disbelief.

  Meg leaned back in her chair and defended her assumption. “It’s not that much of a leap. You worked in the London office. You went to Oxford. Makes sense to me.”

  “You’re right, it does.” She wiped her mouth delicately. “I’m just teasing you. I’m surprised no one told you, though. Just because”—she tilted her head to the side and twisted a long wavy lock of hair between her thumb and index finger—“really, that’s the reason I needed so much time off. I kept coming back home, to the States. My parents are divorced. My little brother is still in college. I felt like I should be with my mom for her surgeries, some of her treatments. That’s why I asked for the transfer to New York.”

  “How come you worked in London in the first place?” Meg was genuinely curious.

  Sasha dropped the strand of hair and smoothed down a few wisps that had gone astray in the light breeze. “When I was at Oxford, Sullivan London recruited me.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed one leg over the other, and folded her hands over her bare knee. “When I was in high school my dad’s company transferred him to London, and I thought it would be cool and exciting to go to school in England. And it was,” she added emphatically, “but by the time I graduated I was ready to come home. My dad had already been transferred back to his office in DC. I missed my family. So when I interviewed with Sullivan I asked about the New York office. I was pretty homesick by then.” She looked embarrassed and avoided eye contact as she toyed with the hem of her summery cotton dress. “But they were already hiring someone, so it was London or nothing.” Meg knew they were talking about her and suspected Sasha did too. As though she was reading Meg’s mind Sasha added, “It all worked out anyway. Here we both are.”

  “Where do you live?” Meg asked, changing the subject.

  “Here. In the city. On the West Side.”

  “Roommates? Boyfriend?”

  “No and no.”

  Sasha didn’t seem bothered by the questions, so Meg continued her good-natured third degree.

  “Pets?”

  “Under consideration.”

  “Dog or cat?”

  “Ooh, that’s a tough one.” She scrunched her nose as though she was deciding on the spot. “I would say dog, but being in the city, I don’t know. Maybe cat.” She twisted her lips to the side.

  “Why not dog? People have dogs in the city. I see them all the time.”

  “I know they do. But you’d be surprised at how many people get a dog without realizing the commitment involved.” She shook her head. “Gah, sorry. This is a subject I’m a little intense about. I volunteer at the West Side Rescue Mission on the weekends. I see dogs being returned all the time. Even the little ones.” She made direct eye contact. “I have to practice my resistance every Saturday and not adopt them all myself.”

  Meg smiled. “That’s sweet.” It was out before she could stop herself. “You work there every weekend?” she asked, hoping the question would overshadow her comment.

  “Well, most. But not this weekend.”

  “How come?”

  “I’m heading home to see my mom—”

  “Right, you said that.”

  Sasha put the lid on her empty tray and placed it in the plastic bag. “Usually I volunteer on Saturday mornings and then hang out with my friend Jane-Anne and her friends. She lives here too, but I know her from home. We went to high school together. Her twin sister is my best friend.” She crumpled down the handles of the bag and pushed it to the side of the table. “What about you? What are you doing this weekend?”

  Meg had to think about it for a second. “I think my friends are going to the Kitchen tomorrow night.” She said it offhandedly, almost thinking out loud.

  “The lesbian bar?” Sasha interrupted her train of thought. “I was there a few weeks ago.”

  That caught Meg’s attention. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I went there during Pride. Jane-Anne’s cousin is gay. She came in from Philly with her girlfriend, so we all went out with them. I liked that place a lot. Really good music.”

  Meg nodded, both pleased and disappointed at the same time, and wanting desperately to conceal both emotions.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Sasha asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  It was a question Meg always hated, no matter who asked it. The annoying thing about it, in her opinion, was there was no good answer. She wasn’t going to say she’d spent most of the last year screwing around, that made her sound kind of whorish, even by her standards. On the flip side, admitting no one found her interesting enough to date on a long-term basis was a confession she didn’t want to make, and hoped wasn’t true. She held her head high. “Just haven’t found the right girl, I guess.”

  Sasha seemed to find her response acceptable and they moved on to other topics as they packed up their garbage and made their way back to the office on Third Avenue.

  Meg had to admit despite her long-term reservations and her deep-seated desire to despise the girl, she’d had a really nice time.

  As the elevator opened onto the seventh floor, Meg reached for her swipe card with one hand and held Sullivan’s main door open for Sasha with the other in an oddly chivalrous manner. She kicked herself inside, biting her cheek and reminding herself this wasn’t a date. But when she walked Sasha to her office she couldn’t resist.

  “Sasha, this was fun. What do you say? Same time next week?” she asked, backing toward her own office.

  Sasha grinned. “It’s a date.”

  If only, Meg thought, whipping around to keep her dorky smile from giving her up as she bounced down the hall.

  Chapter Five

  Tracy had gotten Meg’s voice mail all three times that she tried calling from t
he sole pay phone she’d found at Newark Airport. Now, as she was meandering through the streets of Bay West, she regretted her decision not to leave a message. Not that it would really matter—her phone was dead anyway, she still wouldn’t know where she was going—but at least Meg wouldn’t be completely surprised when Tracy showed up on her doorstep. But she had split in such a hurry that the damn thing barely had a half charge to begin with.

  For the life of her she could not remember Meg’s address. Something inside kept coming back to the one forties, but without a specific number that instinct was pretty much useless. One more time she walked down a street where all the attached houses looked exactly the same, peering at each façade, studying them for clues of her old friend in window dressings and lawn décor. She pulled her wheeled luggage behind her and adjusted the golf bag over her shoulder. A few beads of sweat formed on her forehead and she wiped them with her palm, running her hand all the way back through her short hair knowing after so many hours of travel, the product holding her carefully crafted style in place would be nearly devoid of potency. She frowned on the spot, suddenly less than confident in her spur-of-the-moment decision to leave California.

  She needed an out, an escape. She’d packed up her suitcase quickly, grabbed her golf clubs, and made her calls on the way to the airport—first to her father letting him know she was going to New York for a few weeks; then to her sports agent and her coach to inform them she needed a break from the pro tour. They fought her on it—not her dad, but the other two. Tracy didn’t waver. She told them both this was what she needed mentally, right now. She assured them all she was not having a breakdown. If anything, her head was clearer than it had been in months.

  She just needed some time off. From golf, from LA, from her two-timing, back-stabbing ex-girlfriend.

  The trip to New York had been planned anyway. She’d just moved up the timetable by a few weeks. Only, in her rush to flee she’d forgotten to notify her host of the change. And now she was drawing a blank on Meg’s address. And she’d neglected to juice up her phone or her iPad. And now she was a little lost.

  She took two steps into the street about to cross to the other side, but turned back again. She stood her golf bag upright and leaned on it, all but giving up.

  “You okay?”

  She turned toward the voice, more than pleased to come face-to-face with a slim blonde, whose eyes stood out in the distance between them.

  Tracy made light of her situation. “I’m looking for one forty-”—she bobbled her head back and forth—“eight?” She held her hands up and puckered her lips, squinting a little in the sun. “Or maybe one forty-five? I’m not really sure. But my gut tells me one forties, for sure.”

  The woman gave her a quick once-over, a friendly smile forming on her lips as she tucked a long lock of hair behind one ear. “You’re Meg’s friend.”

  “Oh, thank God. You know her.” Tracy breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

  The gorgeous blonde’s smile widened. “She’s across the street. One forty-seven, I think it is. But you were close.” She walked toward Tracy. “Here, let me help you.”

  Tracy hoisted her bag over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I got it. I’ll just follow you, they all look the same to me.”

  They crossed the street together and walked right up to Meg’s front door. After several attempts at knocking and ringing the bell, there was still no answer.

  “She knows you’re coming?” The woman looked at her watch. “I’m surprised she’s not here. You know Meg, she’s never late for anything,” she said with surprise audible in her voice.

  “I’m a touch early,” Tracy said with a lilt in her voice, even though it was a private joke. “No big.” She pushed the handle on her suitcase down and brought her hand to her forehead again, trying in vain to look presentable. “At least I’m waiting at the right house now, so that’s a plus.”

  “You could wait at Lexi and Jesse’s across the street. They’re her friends. I just came from there.” She shook her held quickly. “Sorry, I’m Betsy. I should have said that sooner. I’m a friend of Meg’s.” She tucked one hand under her arm and held the other out stiffly, looking adorably awkward in her self-introduction.

  “Nice to meet you, Betsy.” She clasped Betsy’s hand and looked directly into her eyes. “Tracy Allen,” she said, holding on to Betsy’s hand longer than she really needed to.

  “So do you want to?” Betsy asked.

  “Want to what?” Tracy was confused and also so taken by Betsy’s beautiful eyes that she had forgotten the question.

  “Wait at Jesse’s,” Betsy answered, casting a look back over her shoulder, in the direction she had come from. “They have water, a bathroom, probably even keys to Meg’s place, if you want.”

  Tracy forced herself to break eye contact. “Nah, I’m okay. It’s beautiful out. I’ll just hang here.” It was one thing to show up out of the clear blue. There was no need to overstep even more by intruding on Meg’s friends too. She politely declined the offer and thanked Betsy for her help.

  Betsy stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans and rocked forward on her feet.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “I sure hope so,” Tracy cooed in response. She knew it was over the top and she saw Betsy blush a little as she backed away. Tracy didn’t care. The woman was sexy and sweet, and she was here to forget her problems and have some fun.

  She rested her golf bag up against the house and leaned against it, lacing her fingers behind her head and crossing her long, tanned legs at the ankles, thinking this vacation was off to a very promising start.

  *

  Meg was more than a little surprised, but completely thrilled to find Tracy sprawled on her one-step stoop when she got home from work.

  “What’s going on?” Meg asked, turning her key in the door. “Is everything okay?” She put her keys and her mail on the small table in the foyer. “What are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But what’s up?” Meg asked, dropping her messenger bag and hugging her friend.

  Tracy smiled and hugged her back. “Change of plans. My schedule opened up earlier than I thought. I tried to call, but my phone died, it’s…” Her voice faded. “It’s a long story.”

  Meg raised her eyebrows at Tracy’s tone. They had known each other a long time and she could tell there was something her friend wasn’t saying.

  Reading her expression perfectly, Tracy answered her. “I’ll fill you in on everything, I promise. Just not tonight. Is that okay?”

  Meg nodded sincerely. She gave Tracy the tour of her modest home, leaving her in the guest room.

  “Take however long you need to clean up, unpack, whatever,” Meg said as she backed out of the room. “Just be advised I couldn’t care less about your strict health code. I’m ordering us a pizza. With pepperoni. Deal with it,” she called out, descending the stairs.

  Forty minutes later at Meg’s kitchen table, Tracy was finishing up her second slice. “God, I forgot how good Staten Island pizza is.” She looked over, eyeing up a third.

  “Best in New York.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “I know I am,” Meg said with absolute certainty. “I meant to tell you before”—Meg nodded with her chin as she changed the subject—“I like the shorter hair. Looks good.”

  “Ditto,” Tracy responded as she ruffled through her short coif. “It’s a mess right now, but what can I say, it’s been a long day.” As she ran her hand through it again, Meg could tell Tracy’s haircut was way trendier than her own. She knew from Facebook that Tracy had recently moved from a kind of faux hawk cut to a shorter, more andro look, keeping the sides buzzed and pushing the top completely to one side. Meg thought both looks worked for her friend, even if they were a touch too affected for her own style. But Tracy’s whole look was striking, her ethnicity a mix of Korean and Greek. The combination gave her a unique appearance, making her distinctively attractive. There was
n’t much she couldn’t pull off.

  Tracy licked her lips, reading too much into Meg’s silence. “Dude, are you mad that I’m here?”

  “Am I mad? Are you kidding?”

  “It’s pretty dicky of me to just show up. Sorry.” Her thin upper lip curled and her dark eyes revealed her sincerity.

  “Trace, it’s awesome you’re here. I’ve been counting the days anyway.” Meg reached for her soda. “I get that something’s up.” She pursed her lips. “Not lost on me. And I see you’re not ready to talk about it. It’s cool.” She tipped her head back finishing the last of her ginger ale. “Look, I know whatever’s going on, whoever the girl is who did this to you”—she circled her index finger at Tracy sitting across from her—“which sent you clear across the country,” Meg finished meeting Tracy’s eyes, “I know you’re going to tell me about it. There’ll be plenty of time for that.” She gave her friend a warm, knowing smile. “For now, though, just relax. Chill out. There’s a social this weekend and everything. We’ll drink, have a good time. You can meet my friends. They’re amazing—”

  Tracy interrupted her. “I actually met one of your friends today. I almost forgot to tell you. Betsy something.”

  “Really?”

  “I was sort of lost.” Tracy shook her head at herself. “She helped me figure out which house was yours.”

  “That sounds like Betsy.” Meg picked up a crust, broke it in two, and tossed one half back in the pizza box. “Her name is Jennifer actually. Jennifer Betsy. But nobody calls her that. Everybody just calls her Betsy.”

  Tracy picked up the other half of crust and inspected it before biting off the end. “She lives here, at Bay West?”

  “No. She might as well, though, she’s here all the time.”

  “Is that right?” Tracy mused, midchew. She took a sip of her drink and tried for nonchalant adding, “She’s got some eyes, huh?”