“Well,” I said, “I do need someone to unfuck things right now.”

Perrine snorted, and I glared back.

“Okay,” she said, turning to tug on Lola’s arm. “We should go. I’m starving.”

“Good to see you, Hayes,” said Lola, smiling at me like she had my number, even though we’d really just met.

“You too,” I said as I followed them to the door. Once they’d left, I flopped onto my couch, stretching my legs long, remote in hand, clicking over to ESPN for something mindless to watch.

I thought for a moment of Serena, her hand on mine, her flirty words. But in a second she was gone, replaced by the idea of seeing Franny again. And then suddenly a text alert popped up on my phone. I swiped over to messages and glanced at the screen. It was Perrine. It simply said, Take it or leave it.

And then, before my brain could fully process just what she meant, a contact card followed.

Franny Doyle

917-555-5535

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Franny

The city was already wide-awake when I got to the front of Cleo’s apartment building at 9 a.m. on Saturday. I’m here, I texted, and then sat down on her stoop until she popped out through the front door, her hair still wet from the shower.

“Let’s do it!” she exclaimed, with way too much energy for this early on a weekend morning. We were headed uptown to hunt for something for me to wear to the black-tie gala her mom cochaired every summer, because the secondhand shops on the Upper East Side were always restocked on Saturday mornings. It was either this or renting a dress. But I liked the idea of something all my own—vintage, timeless, and most importantly, cheap.

The plan was for me to tag along with Cleo, try to meet the design team who produced the event, and schmooze with the fancy uptown ladies, see if they’d hire me to decorate one of their many bathrooms. Cleo had even gotten her mom involved, and Mrs. Kim, like her daughter, loved making the impossible happen.

We’d barely made it on to Houston Street when my phone rang.

“Franny, hi, it’s Hayes Montgomery. From the train.”

“Hayes who hates sugar?” I said without thinking, and Cleo’s mouth dropped when she heard his name.

She tucked her arm in mine and leaned close to try to hear the call through my phone. I gave her a playful push away.

I heard him let out a nervous laugh. “Yes, it’s me. Hayes who hates sugar.”

We stopped in front of Cleo’s favorite coffee shop so she could grab us Americanos to jump-start the day. I paced the sidewalk as she blew me a kiss and walked inside.