Ricky swung from his bike, petting Lloergan with one hand as he pulled off his helmet with the other.

As I walked toward him, I remembered all the other times he’d come home from business. I’d see him and feel a rush of desire, reminded of exactly how good he looked. Today, though, what I thought wasn’t how good he looked, but how familiar. A shot not of lust but of joy.

Ricky’s home, and I can’t wait to talk to him.

Because that had always been the most important thing. Our friendship. The ease and comfort of that friendship. With Gabriel, I could have deep and challenging and infuriating conversations. Ricky was the guy I could just kick back with, relax and chatter and never tire of it.

“Didn’t I just talk to you in Miami a few hours ago?” I said.

He checked his watch. “Six hours ago. I raced to catch a flight home right after we talked. I know it was tough, managing the current crises without me.”

“Uh…”

He turned to Gabriel. “She’s dumbstruck with gratitude. And I’m sure that complete lack of expression on your face masks incredible relief that I’m here to save the day.”

“I appreciate…” Gabriel began slowly.

Ricky thumped Gabriel on the back as he passed. “I’m kidding, obviously. Liv’s trying to think of a comeback that’s suitably sarcastic but not actually cruel. I know you guys didn’t need me. But I can help, so I want to. Plus Lloe needs me home. Don’t you, girl?”

He scratched the cŵn’s head as she accompanied him up the front steps.

“I need to speak to you,” Gabriel said.

“Yep, we all need to talk. Liv’s update was kinda succinct. Can we do that someplace that’s a little warmer? I could also really use a drink, too.”

“Right,” I said. “Let me do that. You and Gabriel can talk upstairs.”

“Sure…” Ricky said. “Or we could talk in the parlor, while you pour the menfolk their drink.”

“I’d rather speak in private,” Gabriel said.

“Ah, let me guess. It’s about Liv.”

Gabriel went still.

Ricky glanced at me. “It’s one of those conversations where Gabriel and I discuss how worried we are for your safety, which we know better than to say in front of you because it makes us sound like overprotective cavemen.” He opened the door. “Let’s talk in the parlor. Riding in December is not warm. I’m going to get a fire—”

He stopped in the parlor doorway. That’s when I saw the champagne glasses, the tangle of blankets and scattered pillows. And the clothing. My shirt and jeans. Gabriel’s trousers. My bra. My panties. His boxers.

“Okay, then,” Ricky said. “Well…” He turned to Gabriel. “I guess I know what you were going to talk to me about.”

“I’m sor—”