“This isn’t a joke to me,” I said. “I need this job. If I screw this up—”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure you have plenty to shoot. Let me buy you breakfast before we go to the station. We’ll talk about presenting it to my boss, and I’ll have a better idea of what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Okay,” he said, the dimple in his cheek appearing. “Either way, after breakfast is over, you’ll have a better idea of what you want.”

The Audi’s back door creaked as I opened it.

“Ellie…”

“Just remember this,” I said. “This wasn’t my fault. I tried to save you the trouble.”

“I’m a firefighter, Ellie. I do the saving in this relationship.”

I slid into the back seat and closed the door. Tyler tapped on the window, and I rolled it down. “This is not a relationship.”

“I’ve told you before—I’m open to friends with benefits,” he said with a wide grin.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Me?” Tyler said, touching his chest. “Nah!”

I rolled up the window as José pulled away. The leather seats were warm, and I rubbed my fingerless gloves together.

José turned left onto the highway for home, glancing at me in the mirror.

“You look happy, miss.”

I stared out the window at the lights breaking through the dark. “I think what you’re seeing is irritation.”

“You have a guest this evening.”

“A guest?” I asked. “Please tell me it’s not Sterling. Or my parents. Fuck, it’s not my parents, is it?”

José chuckled. “Neither. The girl with blue hair.”

“Paige?”

He nodded.

“How long has she been there?”

“Almost an hour. She brought cookies. They’re good.”

“You ate my cookies?”

“No, Miss Ellie. She brought four dozen.”

“She must know Sally is trying to starve me to death.”

José slowed at the gate, and then passed through, driving leisurely down the drive and stopping in front of the house next to an eighties model Hyundai hatchback. The blue paint was chipped, and a long scrape and dent spanned from front fender to back seat. The car was cute but beat up—no more perfect car for Paige.

She greeted me in the foyer, throwing her arms around me. She was wrapped in a blanket that smelled like Finley, nothing but her head, hands, and tattered red Converse visible.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She pulled me into the kitchen. “I brought cookies,” she said, pulling off the lid of a plastic tin that looked older than she was.

She held out a round sugar cookie, the white frosting in the shape of a snowflake.

I took a bite. “Wow,” I said, still chewing. The cookie melted in my mouth, and the frosting was decadent. “You really made these?”

She nodded. “My grandma’s recipe.”