I was about to head up the stairs myself, track down Rosalee and apologize a million times, but then I saw a flicker of light through the window. As I moved toward the glass, I saw a few more flickers in the dark.

I let myself out through the heavy glass doors and was hit with a rush of balmy night air before I walked toward the low-lit courtyard.

Bri was leaning against the brick boundary between the courtyard and pool, trying to light a cigarette.

“Let me help.” I leaned in, cupping my hands around hers to block out the breeze. As it caught light, I breathed in the sweet and mellow cloud of smoke from its tip.

“Don’t tell my mom,” Bri said, cigarette clenched between her teeth.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You must be like, what? Forty years old?”

“Thirty-five.” Bri blew a puff of smoke in my face.

“Sorry.”

“No need. I don’t mind getting older. I mean, my mother minds it. She wanted me to be the one getting married, making babies and all that jazz … but that’s not the life for me.” Bri shook her head and chuckled. “I’m not sure why I told you that.”

“Because you’re drunk. I think we all are a little bit.”

“Not my mom. She hardly ever drinks now. She used to every night, a ‘nightcap’ she called it, until my father died. Now she avoids anything and everything that reminds her of him.”

Despite all the drinking and burping, Bri didn’t really seem all that drunk now. Her eyes and words were clear, and I could tell that talking about her late father was painful.

“Sorry about your dad,” I said.

Despite the warm temperature, the breeze in the shadows of the courtyard felt chilly, goosebumps appearing on my arms and legs.

“Do you think Georgia will be okay?” I asked, staring over at the pool. The water looked crystal clear, as though the surface itself was an optical illusion.

“Oh yeah. She’ll be okay. She had a few bouts with coconut when she was a kid. And Georgia is a nurse. If she thought her allergy was that bad, then she would have carried an EpiPen with her,” Bri exhaled.

“A nurse? I thought she owned her own yoga studio?” I asked. Rosalee certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about Georgia being a nurse, and her Instagram account was all fitness and sexy poses.

“Yeah. Something happened. I’m not sure what. She gave up her job at the hospital and that’s when she opened the studio.”

“Hmm.” Before I could ask more about what happened, Bri was walking toward the pool.

“It’s kind of cold for that,” I said, flinching at how prudish I sounded.

“You sound like my mother. Look, I just want to get my feet wet. The water looks too good to ignore.”