But I’d seen pictures of both of his sisters… They had dark hair like Rowan.

This one was blonde. And much too young to be his aunt.

She was younger than me. Mid to late twenties. Wearing far too little for this time of night during this time of year. She was dressed for the club. Or what passed for the club in Jupiter.

Malley’s Bar and Grill was the only place for miles with cheap drinks, a good band every Saturday, and open till three.

I’d been there a time or two with Fiona. It was fun but not exactly my scene. I was more into a wine bar and a cheese board than tequila shots and sticky floors. But to each their own.

“You’re not Rowan,” the woman stated the obvious.

“No,” I agreed.

We stared at each other, taking each other’s measurements, I guessed. She was pretty. Slim. Tall. Her black liner was slightly smudged, her lipstick had rubbed off and her curly hair was a little messy. But she still looked good. One of those magical girls who probably could run five miles and look dewy with a hint of red to her cheeks.

Her generous boobs were showcased in a strapless dress that also showed off a tiny waist that I thought Barbie was only in possession of. Ditto with the long, slim, tanned legs.

Her feet were bare.

She was holding some platforms in her left hand.

And she’d come here. To Rowan’s. After a night out.

I was wearing Rowan’s tee. No makeup. My hair was escaping the two braids I’d put it in before going to sleep. I did not have a Barbie waist or slim, tanned legs.

I should not have been comparing myself to this woman. That wasn’t the kind of person I was. Nor was I the kind of person to instantly feel hostile to a woman I didn’t know, purely on the basis of her connection to the man I was dating, who also seemed to be dating other girls.

“He’s not here,” I told her, gripping the front door. Maggie was pressed against my legs, as if in support.

The girl looked to me then to Maggie.

“I, um. I’m so sorry,” she looked down, blushing. “This is really embarrassing. I got an Uber here, because, um…” She turned her head down the driveway to where her ride had left her behind before looking back at me. “Rowan is usually home, and he’s usually alone, and… I’m so fucking sorry. I never would’ve done this if I knew he had… if I knew you were here.”

The poor girl sounded completely sincere and utterly mortified. She was not some kind of harlot having an affair. She was a young girl who had an arrangement with a hot older man, and I would’ve said more power to her if the situation were different.

But the situation was not different.

“I’ll just wait out here and order a ride,” she babbled, fumbling for her phone.