“Since I took some space to move on,” she said. She visibly bit back a dreamy smile, and I peered so intently at her that a flush ran up her face.

“Aha,” I said, whacking her arm. “The esteemed Dr. Oliver Omundi, I presume? When did that officially happen?”

“A while ago. I didn’t say anything because I got funny about jinxing it, which is how I knew it was real,” she said happily. “He’s the smartest, kindest person. I like him so much that it’s terrifying, because my internship is ending soon, but I’m also calm? Like I trust what we have already.” She absentmindedly began braiding my hair. “I never felt like that with Freddie. I wish I could go back and tell myself that wasn’t real love. It would’ve saved a lot of aggravation.”

“Have Dr. Omundi apply his brains to time travel,” I said. “It’s the least you could do, considering.”

Lacey pinched me, and I shrieked. “Serves you right,” she said.

“Oh no, what’s Bex done now?” Nick said, sticking his head in the room.

We turned to face him. He had just come back from a senior citizens fitness event, and he looked sweaty in his charity-branded polo shirt. It was surprisingly appealing.

“The usual,” Lacey said. “Incurable smart-assery.”

“Tell me all about it,” he said, stretching out across the foot of the bed. Within seconds a deafening snore emanated from his face.

“That has to be a speed record,” Lacey said quietly. “No wonder you guys haven’t talked much.”

“I told you.”

“All this to benefit a man they call Prince Dick,” Lacey marveled.

“I can’t figure it out,” I said. “It’s like watching a knight joust for a damsel he doesn’t actually like.”

I had been hoping a night at home with our friends would help put things back to normal. Nick and Freddie had continued throwing themselves into their duties as if they had something to prove—to Richard, to themselves, to each other—but lately Nick had been edging ahead in this MVP race nobody seemed to care about but them. I only saw him when he was rolling out of bed at 5:00 a.m. to shower, put on a blue suit, kiss me, and leave, and then again when he got back from the far end of wherever at 11:00 p.m. to take off his blue suit, shower, kiss me, and pass out.

Lacey poked Nick’s arm with her toe. He didn’t move. “Should we let him sleep?”

“Might as well,” I said as the doorbell rang, a harsh, tolling noise that reminded me of BBC shows set in wartime. “If he’s that tired, he’ll face-plant into Gaz’s cake, and that will end in tears.”