Gabe was waiting at the bottom of the steep stairwell, as agreed. He was wearing a ball cap and aviator sunglasses. The accessories made him look young and cool. She couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell if he was watching her approach, but as she got closer, his lips softened into a smile.

“You look pretty,” he said, and she heard the warmth in his voice.

“You look good, too. I like the shades.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Neither did I.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither one expressing the thoughts that had kept them awake. Nat had, technically, passed out drunk. But if she hadn’t, she’d have been thinking about Gabe and how they could fix things. She’d have thought about Cole and the break-in and what he planned to do to her. She’d have thought about Violet and how the girl felt about her.

“Shall we go up?” Gabe gestured toward the stairs. Nat climbed up first, feeling her lover on her heels. His presence behind her was both familiar and new, comfortable and awkward. So much had happened in the two weeks since Gabe had ended it but being with him still felt right.

When they reached the reclaimed rail line, they strolled uptown in silence. The path was busy on such a pleasant evening, but the other guests were ensconced in their own conversations, or enraptured by the view of the Hudson, the art installations, the late-spring greenery. Nat didn’t know how to start the conversation they needed to have. With their sudden breakup? With Violet? With Nat’s arrival at Gabe’s Hamptons home? But her partner spoke first.

“So someone broke into your apartment.”

“Yes,” she said, grateful for his interest. He still cared about her, still wanted to protect her. “It has to be Cole. The footprint looks about his size. He’s not in Blaine. And the necklace is gone.”

“Nothing else was taken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure you didn’t misplace it? Have you looked everywhere?”

“Yes,” she said, guilt making her voice shake. “I looked everywhere.”

“And the footprint,” he said calmly. “Have you had any guests who might have put it there?”

“I haven’t had any guests,” she cried, “not since you.” It sounded shrill and desperate, but she was offended by the suggestion. “Only my friends Keltie and Ivan from art school, but that was weeks ago.”

“Could Ivan have stepped on the bed?” Gabe’s voice was calm, regulated. He was in lawyer mode.

“No.” But her friends’ last visit drifted into her mind. She remembered them drinking, playing music, dancing around the studio. It felt like years ago that she had been so light, so carefree. Could Ivan have jumped on the bed during their dance session? When had she last washed her sheets? Household chores had fallen by the wayside since she’d been outed at school, since Gabe had dumped her. The glass of vodka she’d had was muddling her thoughts. Self-doubt was creeping through the fog. But she said, “He didn’t.”