“Your husband’s too cute; I wouldn’t trust Kitty-Kat’s clients,” Molly said.

Norah laughed. “Good point. Anyway, I tried to get Lida to cover, but she has that mysterious stomach bug that grabs her every few weeks.”

“Sure thing,” Tara said and rolled her eyes. “The bug that sits on the bottom of the freaking tequila bottle.”

“Stop,” Kate said.

“I swear, Kitty-Kat, you take in humans like some people take in animals. I think you should move on to stray cats.” Molly poked Kate’s arm with one slender finger.

This never-ending subject irritated Kate, but she smiled. “I know.”

And she did know. Lida had once been one of the girls she’d counseled in the wilderness of Arizona, a girl she’d been unable to “let go” when the time had come. Now twenty-six years old, Lida could hold it together for weeks and sometimes months, but then she’d slide back into that dark place, a place where someone who hadn’t visited that same hell could never imagine or understand. The last thing Kate had energy for that morning was rehashing the pain that led Lida to do things Molly and Tara couldn’t fathom doing. Kate knew all about doing things she’d never once imagined doing. Explaining rarely helped.

Kate met Rowan Irving when she was on a buying trip for Mimsy Clothing. It was Rowan’s smile that caused Kate to grin in return. This was what she’d been waiting for: an open door that would shut all others. It had been nine years since she’d last cracked open her heart, and it was time to try again.

When she met Rowan, she’d resolved to forget the pain of the past. Time to move on, she’d told herself. Somewhere deep inside she’d remember what happened, but the world would never know or see. She would make a new life starting right there, right then. Nothing of the past would build the future.

Rowan’s eyes were brown, his eyelashes long and dark. His face was square and solid. He seemed able to hold the weight of her world without wavering. They sat across from each other at a bar table and laughed about the karaoke singers onstage. “Do you sing?” he asked.

She started to answer in her usual way, which would be “Oh, no, I could never get on that stage.” And then she remembered: Begin Again. Begin Anew.

His eyes were smiling. She’d never really seen anyone’s eyes smile like that, so fully. “Yes,” she said. “I try.”

“Okay, go for it.” He pointed at the stage.

“You’ll go with me?”

“I don’t karaoke.”

“Tonight you do,” she said, enjoying this new self who flirted and took chances and tried to talk a man into singing with her as if she were tasting a new flavor of ice cream.

“No way,” he said.