One of the girls at the table glances over at us and waves. I raise my beer in response.

“Who’s that?” Rosey asks.

“I think it’s Juniper French. I went to high school with her, but she looked a little different back then.” Juniper French had been a little kooky in high school, to say the least.

“Juniper French. Sounds like a movie star or a pastry or something. She’s pretty. Did you two date?”

I chuckle. “No. I’m not sure Juniper dated in high school. Thinking back, she was pretty, but not to a fifteen-year-old boy. She had that baggy-sweatshirt, glasses-and-braces thing going on.” As we’re talking, Juniper slides out of her booth and wanders over.

“Looks like she grew up,” Rosey says, as Juniper approaches wearing a huge smile.

“I heard you were back in town,” she says, flinging an arm around me. She’s all long limbs and pouting lips. If it wasn’t for her powder-blue eyes and the same blunt bangs, I wouldn’t recognize her.

“Hey, Juney,” I say.

“It’s so good to see you. I’m hearing all the things about the Colorado Club.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” I reply.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about it.” She glances at Rosey, then back at me. “But I don’t want to interrupt your date.”

“Oh, we’re not dating,” Rosey says before I get a chance to respond. “We’re neighbors.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, slightly uncomfortable. No, we’re not dating. But we did have sex last night. I’m not putting a ring on her finger, and I know she just got out of a serious relationship, and it’s not like I’m out here looking for love, but last night was… it shifted things between us, didn’t it?

My thoughts are running away from me. I just want a beer and a good time. Overthinking never ends well.

“Maybe I can come and see you up at the Club,” Juney says. “I don’t know if you know, but I do a bit of painting in my spare time. Some pottery, but mainly painting. I wondered if you wanted to see it.”

My heart sinks. My designer is in charge of sourcing all the artwork for the Club, and I know she’s not going to want me purchasing stuff she can’t use. Maybe I can buy a couple of pieces to put in staff housing or something. “That would be great.”

“You paint?” Rosey says. “I can’t draw a stick figure.”

“Oh, I bet that’s not true,” Juney says. “You probably just haven’t practiced very much. I’ve been doing it a long time now.” Her smile is warm and genuine. Rosey’s too.

“Have you?” I ask. “Was that always your thing? I can’t remember.”