My phone buzzed. Twice. The first text was from Mac: “Two of my favorite girls together. Be still my heart. Be warned, my sister does not play when it comes to alcohol consumption.”

The second was from Dexter. I gasped, “Oh my God, I forgot I was supposed to meet Dexter and Mark this morning!” I said, reading Dexter’s text. “Good. They want to reschedule for later.”

“Let me guess, they want to meet around lunchtime. Why are you engaging Mark? He’s a landscape architect. What are you doing, gutting the patio?”

“I’m doing my job,” I said. For the first time in a long time, I believed it. I kissed him on the cheek like a punctuation mark at the end of a declarative sentence and headed for the shower.

Over the next month and a half, I shopped in out-of-the-way vintage stores where I snapped up undiscovered treasures. I tweaked plans, searched the internet for everything else, and perched myself around the restaurant to study.

On many nights, Annabel would show up and ask, “Where’s our perch tonight, Bailey?” She would gamely sit at the bar, the worst table in the restaurant, and even on the patio on warm April nights knowing my concentration was divided between her and my plan. Annabel took it in stride. I learned a lot about her in the process. Like her brother, she had an affinity for the English language, having attended the University of Georgia and majored in journalism. In Annabel’s words, she “minored in jocks.”

“The golfers could get you into the Masters, the football players could get you tickets to the bowl games, and the baseball players, well, aren’t worth shit. Sitting nine innings outside in the heat and humidity is hell on the hair.” She had the same easy humor as her brother. “I married a jock. That pretty much cured me of that habit.”

I laughed. I learned she was lonely. I learned how to pace myself around her. One of those evenings sitting on the patio, I came up with a plan.

“Annabel, would you take me to some of the most happening spots? I want to understand their vibes. The restaurants and the bar scene.” Annabel’s eyes grew wide. She threw a hundred-dollar bill down on the table, grabbed my hand, and we were off.

I loved going places with her. Because she was the editor of the big magazine in town, everyone knew Annabel, and people treated her like a celebrity. I was content to be “just Bailey,” Annabel’s friend.