“Good plan.”

I take a step to leave at the same time he does.

“You go first,” I say. “So we don’t do one of those awkward dances.”

Kermit laughs. “Definitely let’s avoid awkward dances.”

As he steps around me, his eyes stray down then widen. He raises them, staring at me as he runs a hand over his beard, smirking. “Did you have fun with your angel investor?”

I jerk my head. “Excuse me?”

His eyes linger on the halo, and red flushes over my face. Damn, I wish I had a better poker face. But I can bluff. “I think it fell off, and I’m trying to find her to return it.”

“Ah,” he says with a nod. “Good luck with the department of lost and found.”

Yes, I’d very much like to find her again.

8

Sabrina

I end the call with Mr. Galloway, standing under a gorgeous tree bursting with emerald-green leaves. I turn to the right. I’m next to a glittering stoop in front of a red brick brownstone. I glance at the street, picturesque with no traffic.

I laugh happily. So damn happily.

This is a perfect New York night.

There might as well be a soundtrack. Cue it, because I’m ready.

I’m ready to lift my face to the sky and give all of New York City a kiss to say thank you. If you’d asked me eight months ago if a night like this would come my way, I’d have scoffed a big fat no.

Eight months ago, Ray called me.

“Hey, babe,” he’d said. “I’m ready. Are you?”

“Of course,” I’d told him, barely able to contain a grin. In two days, we’d be tying the knot. I’d met Ray two years before, via a matchmaking site. We’d seemed like a good fit, bonding over a shared love of Goldfish crackers, the Knicks, and our belief that New York City was the greatest place on earth.

As workaholics, we’d both implicitly understood that sometimes we were tethered to our laptops and our phones. But we’d made plenty of time to see each other too, and Ray had fancied himself something of a gourmet chef, whipping up tasty meals for us and hosting dinner parties for our friends. He’d worked in the export business, coached basketball at the community center, and played poker every Thursday with his buddies. He would come home flush with cash—because he was a lucky bastard, he’d said. Then he would take those same friends out the next night or over the weekend. Mr. Generous, they’d called him.

There had been no red flags.

Except maybe the poker. But that’s still the great unknown.

Even in retrospect, even with my twenty-twenty hindsight, I’m not sure I’d have seen it coming. The change was inside him. It was veiled. It was deeply secret.

We were rolling along, ready to say I do. The church was booked, the venue secured, and my brother was going to walk me down the aisle.