“—no carbs for the next thirty days, so I hope you don’t mind that I threw out your Bread Co. gift cards.”

The Caravan was rolling past Barnes Jewish, the major trauma center that took up several blocks. The hospital was a vertical maze of skywalks and towers and brick and glass. In that glass, the April buds of dogwood and cherry trees in Forest Park wavered like ghosts. The park, which faced the hospital, was the heart of the city: it held the Zoo, the Art Museum, the Missouri History Museum, the Muny, the Science Center, and several other, smaller features. It had hosted the 1904 World’s Fair. On one end stood Washington University; on the other North and Shaw’s alma mater, Chouteau College—the university’s little sister, like Barnard and Columbia. And here, growing out of the college and the hospital and the park, was the Central West End. Here was where they would find Allure, the bar Matty had cruised.

North tapped the brakes. The Caravan squealed up to the red light.

“Say that again.”

“I threw them out. I didn’t want the temptation.”

“They were my gift cards. Mrs. Fleming sent them to me for Christmas.”

“Right. But I always borrow your cards—”

“You steal them, Shaw. It’s called stealing when you don’t replace things.”

“I gave you that book when I borrowed your Barnes and Noble gift card. The one you ripped up and threw away.”

“You found that book on a trash heap in Tower Grove East.”

“It was brand new. It was on top of the pile.”

“It was about genital piercings.”

“You said one time you thought Tucker should—”

“I’m not going off carbs, Shaw.”

“Thirty days. It’s a killer combination with yoga. We’re going to feel so much better.”

“Killer combination is right. Like, I’ll kill you if you try to make me go off carbs.”

“We’ll see how you feel after yoga on Saturday.”

The light turned green, and North jammed down on the pedal to keep himself from answering. The Caravan lumbered a few feet, hissed, and died.

“Maybe the Caravan should go low carb for a while too,” Shaw said. “You know: more energy, clear out the guts, all the benefits. You know?”

“Keep talking. Just keep talking and see what happens.”

Shaw didn’t laugh. He just did that annoying thing where the sharp triangle of his face practically glowed. Like he was content with everything in the universe. It made North think about dumping sugar in every fucking cup of coffee Shaw drank for the next month.

Allure was a squat box that was trying very hard to look modern. When North and Shaw had been in college, North vaguely recalled that this place had been a pet store, with cramped windows set into the heavy old bricks. When it changed hands, the new owners must have done a lot of expensive renovations: the windows were massive, looking in on low lighting and two bars—one on each side of the room—and a mixture of tables and booths. It was half past six, and Allure already had steady traffic.