Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Praise for Abbi Waxman and her novels
- Berkley Titles by Abbi Waxman
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Summer
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Fall
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Readers Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“It depends who you’re asking,” replied Polly defensively.
Maggie’s lips twitched, but she turned back to Laura and said, “You’ll tell me the truth. What’s the deal?”
Polly gave up. “Don’t blame Laura,” she said. “It was all my idea.”
“Shocking,” said Maggie dryly.
“We met for the first time today,” Polly explained. “But she was all wet and lost and sad and I felt bad, and what’s-his-name left to go on tour last week, so I thought . . .”
“That’s right,” said Anna. “What did he go on tour with?”
“Evita?” said Polly, shrugging.
Maggie was still frowning. “You thought maybe she could stay here?”
Laura was mortified. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
Maggie smiled at her. “It’s fine, Polly loves a story. She can’t help herself. She lives in a rich fantasy world. It’s part of her charm.”
Polly turned up her palms and grinned. “Sorry! I thought you might be more open to it if she wasn’t a complete stranger.”
Anna laughed. “So, how long have you actually known each other?”
Laura swallowed. “I walked into the bookstore around four p.m.”
Everyone looked at the huge kitchen clock hanging next to the sink. Half past seven.
“Nearly four hours,” said Maggie, getting up for more food. “Sounds good to me.”
THREE
When Laura followed Maggie into the available downstairs bedroom and saw the floor-to-ceiling windows, the deep rose walls, and the pink-and-cream flowery rug, she was filled with an incredible sense of peace. Her childhood home had been very cramped, and privacy had been fleeting. The studio apartment she’d had for the last week or so had been affordable but boxy, a seventies cube with little charm. This was a whole different ball of wax, an elegant, spacious room with high ceilings and long velvet curtains the color of a cold dog’s nose. Assuming the nose was pink to start with.
She looked around and paused. “Wait, is that a real fireplace?”
Maggie laughed. “Yes. The animals will be forever underfoot when winter rolls around.” She smiled. “Although I guess you’ll be in student housing then.”
Laura was surprised. “It gets cold enough to have a fire?”
Maggie nodded. “Sure, it can be chilly in the evenings, you’ll see.” She walked over to close the curtains in the room. “I know it’s hard to imagine right now, but Los Angeles does have different seasons: There are three days of spring every May, an unpredictable and unpleasantly hot summer from then until three days of crisp and lovely fall sometime in November, then an unpredictable and unpleasantly chilly winter until the three-day spring rolls around again.”