Piper laughs. “I always just wear the same thing,” she admits. “You know, mascara, some concealer, plain gloss…”

“Weren’t you saying you wanted to mix things up?” I ask. “Trust me, nobody will be looking at you in the same way if you walk into a room with a bold red lip. It’s the easiest way to make a statement.”

“Won’t it smudge?” Piper examines the packaging.

“It depends on what you’re doing,” I reply with a wink, and she laughs.

“It’s so great that you know how to make this stuff yourself. Was it hard to learn?” Piper says, testing the lipstick sample.

“No, because it didn’t feel like work to me,” I reply, running my fingertips over the expensive, glossy packaging—and dreaming that one day, my own boxes will be on the shelves. “I’ve loved makeup since I was a kid, so it’s not really such a jump from blending my mom’s old lipstick tubes to make new shades and developing them from scratch. It’s kind of like a chemistry experiment,” I add, describing the different processes I use to blend color and base and fixatives. I’m worried I might be boring her, but Piper stays rapt.

“I never even thought about what goes into this stuff,” she says.

“It’s a process, alright. You should see my apartment,” I add, “Half the time, it looks like a mad scientist’s lab!”

“I’d love to!” she exclaims. “When we’re back in the city, we’ll have to hang out.”

Ouch.

There it is: My guilty conscience pinging again. “Sure,” I tell her. “I’d like that.”

Because I would. And hell, maybe after Dash and I announce an amicable breakup, it wouldn’t be weird to see Piper again. This time, without feeling like I’m lying to her in every other word.

Piper decides to try the red lipstick, and we pick out a couple more products, and pay at the register, but we’re just strolling back to her car when I spot Dash across the street. He’s paused on the corner, deep in his phone.

Piper sees him too. “Dash!” she yells, waving. His head jolts up, and I swear, I see surprise—and discomfort—on his face, before he jogs across the street to join us.

“You escaped Zelda’s clutches?” Piper asks with a smile.

“A brief jailbreak.” Dash grins.

“Sure, sure. Admit it, you couldn’t keep away from Callie,” she teases.

“You’re right.” Dash turns his smile to me, and dammit, if those flutterings in my stomach don’t return. “Morning, sweetheart.” He leans in and drops a light, sweet kiss on my lips.

“Good morning,” I manage, trying to stay cool. He looks at our bags.

“I knew you’d find your way to this place,” he says with a grin. “Did it meet your high standards?”

“Just about,” I smile. “Although, they could really use a good vegan lipstick line…”

“Maybe soon,” he says, “If everything goes to plan.”

Right. The plan.

Piper’s phone sounds with a text—and then Dash’s does, too. They both look, and then give a matching wince.