“For sure. There’s a great little children’s boutique called Glam Babes. It’s across the street from my office. You remember where that is, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll head that way in about half an hour. Oh, and Blaire said Carrie needed sneakers, black dress shoes, and casual shoes. What the hell are casual shoes?”

Reagan let out a throaty laugh. “Something nicer than sneakers, but not as dressy as Mary Janes.” What the fuck were Mary Janes? Was she talking about marijuana? “She sighed. “Never mind. I was just about to leave work. I’ll walk over and help you.”

I drove the new blue SUV to pick up Carrie at Beau’s house. When I arrived, all the guys were in the front yard playing ball with her. Including him. Fucking Bode. They all came over to check out the new ride, and Beau asked, “What happened to the convertible?” while he popped the hood and looked at the engine.

“I still have it. I just wanted something a little bigger for when I have Carrie and Blaire with me.”

Asshole Bode slapped me on the back and said, “Good call, Ax. Keep it up. She’ll come around.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped.

He spoke in a low voice so that only we could hear. “Blaire. I think she’s softening up. She told me last night about Evan asking her for a divorce, and I told her that maybe that was a sign that she’s supposed to be with you. You know, like the whole ‘the stars are aligning’ thing, if you believe in that kind of stuff.” Wait. They were divorcing?

“You were encouraging her to be with me?” I asked skeptically.

“Of course. She loves you, dude. Just be patient with her,” Not-So-Asshole Bode replied, and my heart felt a bit lighter. How did he know she loved me? Did she tell him? Why hadn’t she told me? He winked and shot a finger gun at me as Carrie said goodbye to everyone.

I got her loaded up in the car and set my GPS for Glam Babes. Reagan was waiting out front, and I introduced her and Carrie. We walked inside, and I was overcome with glitter and pink and froufrou shit. My daughter was delighted, though. A young, dark-haired sales associate named Meg led us to the shoe department and measured Carrie’s foot. “I think she needs a size twelve in most shoes, but we will try them on her just to be sure. What are you looking for?”

“Oh, um, we need some sneakers first,” I said.

Carrie immediately picked up some purple sparkly ones, of course. I was about to say yes when Reagan said, “Carrie, maybe you should get some white ones instead because they would go with everything.” Hell, I hadn’t even thought of that. I was glad she was here because I was way out of my depth with this girly stuff.