“Do you miss the palace?” Naomi asked, returning to the table with three of Audrey’s personal-favorite champagne flutes in hand. An Anthropologie find, the gold-rimmed and rose-tinted glasses had been featured in one of Audrey’s most popular posts to date.

Audrey rolled her eyes at Naomi’s reference to the family home where she had lived until just a couple of weeks ago. Though, to be fair… the primary Tate residence was sort of a palace, albeit a Manhattan version of one. A towering penthouse with marble floors, a staggering view of the entire city, and more space than Audrey had known what to do with once her parents had moved to California to be near her sister and her sister’s family.

“Creeping up on the big 3-0 while still living in my parents’ house started to feel a little lame,” Audrey admitted as Claire poured the mimosas. “Even though they didn’t live there anymore, I was hyperaware of the pampered-princess vibe while living in the, as you put it, palace.”

“As opposed to this hovel,” Naomi said sarcastically, gesturing at the spacious, sparkling brownstone just down the street from her family’s Madison Avenue penthouse.

“Yes, but I bought this place on my own,” Audrey said a little tartly. “Big difference.”

“Big difference,” Naomi agreed, lifting her glass in a toast. “To fresh starts.”

The three of them clinked glasses, and Claire smiled. “Did you know… I just realized that in the year and a half since we met in the park, we’ve all had a new home? Naomi moved into the Park Ave. place and then again to Tribeca. And mine wasn’t technically a move, but the renovation made it feel like a new place. And now Audrey.”

“And,” Naomi chimed in, “shortly after moving, I found Oliver. You found Scott with your renovation. Which means…” She darted her eyes over to Audrey.

“Mmmmm, yes,” Audrey said, taking a sip of her drink. “Clearly you must be referring to my romantic success with Randy.”

“In our defense,” Claire said, “we did tell you not to date a guy named Randy.”

“And you were right,” Audrey said with a wince, horrified that she had to date Randy Weaver for nearly three weeks before realizing what a creep he was. Granted that was three weeks longer than she’d dated anyone else since Brayden, but that was also three weeks too long, considering.

“At least you found out about the video cameras before you actually starred in one of his, um, films,” Claire said.

“Yeah, well, the cameras were sort of hard to miss, what with the bedroom being made of wall-to-wall-to-ceiling mirrors and all.”

Naomi started cracking up. “It’s seriously too good. To know that guys like that actually exist.”