Listening to a rock station (Why don’t they have stations this good in New York, the biggest radio audience in the country?) Andrew checked his work email on his phone for the first time since leaving Jersey. His inbox had over a thousand messages.

A thousand.

What would it be like when he got back?

The knock on his window nearly made him drop his phone.

Ryker had his face pressed against the glass, distorting his features.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, laughing.

Andrew got out and gave him a hug. Ryker had let his hair grow, his thick black shag slicked back and tied in a bun. His overly large, perfect teeth were so white, they were blinding, even in the midday sun. It was a smile meant to dazzle, and dazzle it did. People paid good money for that smile, a smile that said anything was possible if you set your intentions right.

What Andrew called psychobabble for the masses, Ryker called success.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Andrew said. “I see you’ve hitched your wagon to the man-bun craze. I thought you were a leader, not a follower.”

Ryker’s eyes rolled upward. “Totally Nikki’s idea. She likes it. I’m not crazy about it, but if I avoid mirrors, out of sight, out of mind.”

“Speaking of Nikki, where is she?”

People were streaming out of the arrivals gates, lugging bags on wheels.

“She had to make a quick pit stop to the loo, as her people say.”

Andrew stowed their luggage in the trunk. He clapped Ryker on the shoulder. “Her people will be your people once you start having babies.”

“Don’t rush me, big guy. We’re having too much fun right now.”

Kate and her mother were eagerly waiting for grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. All of the pressure was on Ryker and Nikki, but you’d never know it when you spoke to them about it. Andrew liked to kid him because he knew how much guff Ryker got for not getting to work on the next generation.

Ryker waved his arms. “Over here!”

Nikki emerged, looking as if she’d just stepped off the hair-and-makeup chair on a movie set. She was as stunning as ever, her long red hair flowing over her shoulders, piercing green eyes taking in what passed for the hustle and bustle of Portland, which was a far cry from the airports in New York, where they lived.

She saw Andrew, broke into a run, and leaped into his arms.

“Andy, how have you been?” she exclaimed, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ve been. Have a nice flight?”

He opened the door for her and she slipped into the backseat. “It was, once I got a few vodka tonics in me. Flying is absolute shite these days. I keep telling Ryker he needs to book more gigs so we can buy a private plane.”