“What’s going on?” I ask, moving in beside her.

“Yeah, let’s get Grady’s opinion,” Roy argues while the other two shake their heads like it’s the worst idea ever. “He’ll back me up.”

Marina smiles weakly, handing me the large envelope. “Roy got me a present.”

The puffy envelope is soft. There’s a phone number scribbled on it under the name Bobby. I lift the flap and pull out the cheap, sateen fabric. Ogling the light green, frilly thing, it takes me a minute to realize what it is. The enormous cups give it away.

“What the fucking hell, Roy?” I bark, tossing the lacy, emerald green baby doll nightie at him.

He catches it, holding his hands up submissively. “You, too? Dang it. I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“A nice gesture?” I demand, furious. “She’s young enough to be your daughter, perv!”

He shrugs. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s her color. Soft and pretty, like her. I thought she’d like it.”

“It’s sexual harassment, dumbass!”

Marina’s hand curls around my bicep, holding me in place. “Relax, Grady. He meant well. He’s just being a numpty.”

Everyone goes silent, staring at her.

“What the fuck is a numpty?” Wade asks.

“Sorry, it’s a British version of a bonehead,” she says, shrugging. “Too much PBS.”

Christie, Roy, and Wade nod in unison at this new fact, as if she regularly blows their minds this way.

I groan. “How does he mean well, gifting you lingerie?” I fume, truly ready to drag his ass behind the store and beat him senseless like I’m a damn teenager, blood pumping with hormones and idiocy. I don’t care how macho-dumbass I’m being. Roy thinking about her, Roy imagining her in something like that, Roy imagining her at all pisses the reason and sensibility right out of me. My hands fist at my sides.

Still holding my arm, like she knows what I want to do, Marina explains, “He got me this after a discussion we had, the four of us, about how we’re all single and what Seagrove’s dating scene, or lack thereof, is like.”

“Such a nice talk. Affirming and supportive,” Christie chimes in. “We told Marnie about the singles night they do at Rebellion and how she should give it a shot. She’d have a much better chance than us old farts.”

“I explained that, first of all, none of us need a partner to feel fulfilled or happy,” she says. “And that dating is off the table for me.”

My eyes cut to hers, but she avoids my gaze.

“You said you’d never date again,” Christie corrects, his bushy brows perched high on his wrinkled forehead, “which made us all sad.”