Interesting.

“Eve,” Mont said, appearing in front of the barstools they’d commandeered and snapping her out of her thoughts. “The bloody hell are you doing with these two?”

“We’re best friends now,” Eve said, “like in Totally Spies.”

Mont rolled his eyes. “Has Alex told you she refuses to be Alex? Apparently, she’s Sam.”

“Has Eric told you he refuses to be Clover?” Tessa piped up.

“Uh, because I’m not a little white girl.”

“Don’t be so basic, brother-mine. Anyway, you’re uninvited from the trio. Eve is Clover now. Isn’t she perfect?”

Mont snorted. “Sure. What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade,” Eve said firmly. “Just lemonade, for me. Belvoir, if you have it.” She’d decided on the walk here that she couldn’t get drunk. Not even tipsy.

Because she had plans when she got home, and if Jacob decided to negate those plans, it wouldn’t be down to possible issues of consent.

“Yes, ma’am.” Mont winked, and walked off toward the fridge.

“Ah, hello?” Alex waved. “What about us? Service, barkeep. Service.”

“You can wait,” he said. “It’s good for you.”

Alex kissed her teeth and turned away from him, focusing on Eve. To the right, Tessa was doing pretty much the same thing. Eve suddenly realized she’d never met identical twins before. This close up, despite the differences in hair and makeup, it was kind of trippy.

“So,” Tessa said. “You’re a chef. I should tell you, I can’t cook.”

“She doesn’t need to cook,” Alex added. “She’s the provider. She just needs a happy little homemaker husband.”

“I thought you said no man-talk?”

“They’re like ants. They get into everything.”

Eve could see this escalating, so she interjected, “What do you provide?”

Tessa winked and kissed her admittedly impressive biceps. “Everything, baby.”

Alex rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. “Look, this is Tess.” She opened up a YouTube channel called DIYTessa. The header was a picture of Tessa wearing red lipstick and waving a hot pink drill. “She makes shit. Like, builds furniture and paints walls and whatever else.”

“I create aesthetic spaces,” Tessa said smoothly. “From social media projects to local interior design contracts.” Suddenly she sounded like exactly the kind of person who could make money talking into a camera: confident, put together, with the polished charisma of a radio DJ or a TV newscaster. Then she grinned and turned to holler at her brother, “Hurry it up, big head,” and the moment passed.

Eve took Alex’s phone and scrolled through the videos. Upscaling IKEA Furniture, Creating a Feature Wall, DIY Macramé Planter—no wonder Tessa had been extolling the virtues on their way here.

“Wow,” Eve murmured. So many videos, so many views, so many followers. The woman beside her had built a DIY empire in more ways than one, and instead of feeling envious or lesser, Eve felt inspired. One day, she wanted to have something like this—well, not like this, not YouTube, but something to show for herself. Evidence of a passion committed to.