“Doesn’t he still drive a Ford Pinto?”

She sighs. “Yeah, but we have a lot of good memories in that car.”

“Gross.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “So . . . Devin is cute.”

“And probably more into Marshall than me.”

“Ah, man,” she says. “That’s a bummer. I thought I was playing matchmaker when I invited him to the party tonight.”

The kitchen door opens and Devin walks in. “Your husband is looking for you,” he says to Allysa. She twirls her way out of the kitchen, giggling the whole time. “I really like her,” Devin says.

“She’s great, huh?”

He leans against the island and says, “So. I think I just met The Beggar.”

My heart flutters down my chest. I think The Neurosurgeon has a better ring to it. I take another sip of my champagne. “How do you know it was him? Did he introduce himself?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, but he overheard Marshall introducing me to someone as ‘Lily’s date.’ I thought the look he gave me was going to set me on fire. That’s why I came in here. I like you, but I’m not willing to die for you.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that death glare he gave you was really his smile. They’re superimposed most of the time.”

The door swings open again and I immediately stiffen, but it’s only a caterer. I sigh with relief. Devin says, “Lily,” like my name is a disappointment.

“What?”

“You look like you’re about to puke,” he says, accusingly. “You really like him.”

I roll my eyes. But then I let my shoulders drop and I fake cry. “I do, Devin. I do, I just don’t want to.”

He takes my glass of champagne and downs the remainder of it, then locks his arm in mine again. “Let’s go mingle,” he says, pulling me out of the kitchen against my will.

The room is even more crowded now. There have to be more than a hundred people here. I’m not even sure I know that many people.

We walk around and work the room. I stand back while Devin does most of the talking. He knows someone in common with every person he’s met so far, and after about half an hour of following him around, I’m convinced he’s made it a personal game to find someone in common with everyone here. The whole time I mingle with him, my attention is half on him and half on the room, searching for traces of Ryle. I don’t see him anywhere and I begin to wonder if the guy Devin saw was even Ryle to begin with.

“Well, that’s odd,” a woman says. “What do you suppose it is?”

I look up and see that she’s staring at a piece of art on the wall. It looks like a photograph blown up on canvas. I tilt my head to inspect it. The woman turns her nose up and says, “I don’t know why anyone would bother turning that photograph into wall art. It’s awful. It’s so blurry, you can’t even tell what it is.” She walks away in a huff, and I’m relieved. I mean . . . it’s a bit weird, but who am I to judge Allysa’s taste?