Michelle was at Speakeasy, the bar in midtown that Julia was part-owner of. Michelle didn’t come around here too often, but her brother had asked her to join in a send-off round of drinks for Jill on Saturday afternoon. She was headed to London to rehearse for a limited run in a production of A Streetcar Named Desire, and Davis was staying behind to finish up his work directing a new Broadway show.

“If a drink can get me through that, I’ll take ten,” he said, then planted a long and lingering kiss on Jill’s lips.

“Make that a double for me,” Jill said when he pulled apart.

“The drink or the kiss?” Michelle asked, doing her best to fit in and be a part of the celebration. That task was all the more challenging since Clay was there too, looking as handsome as ever. He had on his Saturday attire—jeans, a button-down shirt, and an unshaven jaw. She winced, some part of her hurting for knowing these details, especially since his eyes were on Julia the whole time as she mixed another one of her signature cocktails for him. Michelle could still remember the night Julia first whipped up the Long-Distance Lover here at Speakeasy before it opened, during a late-night poker game. That was back before Julia had moved to New York from San Francisco, back when Michelle was dating Liam, back when she was still madly in love with Clay.

He hadn’t even known how she felt about him. Julia had been the one to figure it out. That had made it all the more embarrassing.

Julia set down the drink for him, whispered something in his ear, then laughed, and gave the drink to Jill instead, who promptly declared it delicious.

“And what will you be serving me tonight?” Clay asked his wife.

She leaned in closer, and mouthed the word myself.

He raised an eyebrow appreciatively. “My favorite drink.”

“But for now, a scotch,” she said and poured the amber liquid in a glass for her husband.

Michelle waited for that familiar stabbing pain that came from watching them and their innuendo. A wince inside. An ache in her chest that hurt. But none of those feelings arrived on the scene. She felt nothing at all. Thankfully. That realization—of the lack of pain their interaction caused—was a rather lovely one.

Julia turned to Michelle, holding up the bottle in question. “Scotch for you, Michelle?”

“That’d be great,” she said. Julia remembered her favorite drink too. She shouldn’t be surprised. The woman was a bartender. It was her job to remember drinks. Still, Michelle was touched.

Julia handed her the drink, and said in a voice just for her, “I’m glad you’re here. And incidentally, you have some kind of glow about you, so if you’re using some new moisturizer, I need to know what it is. Your skin looks gorgeous.”

Michelle smiled, then blushed. “Thank you,” she said, and even though she hadn’t seen Jack yet today, she knew exactly what Julia was referring to. Sex—great sex—was good for the complexion.