“Small world,” he commented. “It’s a good thing Astrid’s got you. Shitty relationships might be everywhere, but when you find a good one, you keep her.”

“Kit?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from me.

He smiled. “Yeah. Donovan and I are lucky.”

I didn’t know who Donovan was, but I’d heard that some guys in Cutthroat shared a woman. Based on the other relationships I’d seen in that town, maybe there was something to be said for it.

I kept my mouth shut because I couldn’t even make a fake relationship work.

But if it was so fake, why did I feel like shit?

ASTRID

“What the—” Mary said, putting the frosting she’d just mixed into the walk-in fridge. She shut the door behind her and eyed me. “Say that again.”

“It was Amy,” I repeated. “Edward cheated on me with my sister.”

She stared. “Holy shit. I’m calling your aunt.” She went for the phone, picked up the tin we put broken, unsellable cookies in, and handed it to me.

I dropped onto my stool with the tin and pulled out a piece of a snickerdoodle. I heard Mary talking but didn’t pay her any attention. In fact, I didn’t remember driving back from Cutthroat. I’d stared at the road and drove on autopilot as I thought about my fucked-up family. My life. Thatcher.

Aunt Jean must have been at the library because she came through the door within minutes. She wore black pants with a plain white blouse, but over it she had on a pale blue t-shirt that read Five out of four people have problems with fractions.

I’d seen that one before, which I thought was hilarious. On a normal day.

Today, I wondered if five out of four people had crazy families or whose sister fucked her boyfriend behind her back.

I watched from the stool as she shooed a straggler who was drinking an iced coffee and reading a book out the door and turned the open sign to closed.

I should have cared that she shut down my business early, or that she was able to do it with such finesse that the guy thought he was doing her a favor instead of the other way around, but I didn’t have it in me. The store closed early on Saturdays so I’d probably only miss a few late stragglers.

“Upstairs,” she ordered when she took one look at me. “Bring the tin.”

She didn’t wait, only started up the back steps to my apartment above the store. The arrangement suited me well, especially since I had to be up so early. It was a short commute and great in the winter.

I followed, Mary taking up the rear. Aunt Jean was already on my small couch.