Lacey ended up staying in London after our birthday. Ollie had decided to return to his position at Cambridge, and had asked her to move in with him when they both finished in Kenya. The prospective social buffer of their presence seemed to make it easier for Freddie to accept our invitation, though he declined to bring the chemist he’d been courting.

“Not everyone can knock off work on a Thursday for a boozy early dinner, Killer,” he teased.

Lacey took over the job of making our beloved Chex Mix, and Olly was bringing something from his father’s bakery. We’d invited the Omundis to join us, but they politely declined. A photo of Lacey and Olly at the theater had led to a minor resurgence in public curiosity about Lacey, and I didn’t blame Olly’s parents for wanting to steer clear—though I was encouraged, and pleasantly surprised, that Lacey herself also seemed disinclined to stoke the flames.

“I kind of forgot anyone here might give a shit,” she’d said, but not with the awe she’d have used even a year ago.

I liked Olly instantly. He was muscular but compact—not much taller than me or Lacey, but with rock-solid biceps, from what his short-sleeve collared shirt displayed. His aura was of an endearing low-level nervousness; the way his eyebrows arched over his thick-framed black glasses gave his face the impression of constant hopeful anticipation, as if he simply cared very much about everything going well for the people in his life, and wanted to be the first to smile when it did.

“…not at all unlike elephant herds, actually, because the matriarch really sets the tone for the herd and they’re very reliant on her,” Olly was now saying to Nick, squeezing his left thumb with his right hand in a way that I would come to realize was his calming tic. “The whole elephants-never-forget expression comes largely from the females, and they are very hardy.”

“Gran is nothing if not tough,” Nick agreed.

“Oh God, and now I’ve called the Queen an elephant,” Olly fretted.

“I’ve done worse,” I said.

“I took it as a compliment,” Nick assured him. “Come sit and catch me up on the Sands preserve—it’s been eons since I’ve been.”

“Is this the famous Olly?” called out Freddie, sauntering in from the foyer. “Delighted to meet you, sir.”

“Who let you in?” I said, giving his cheek a light peck.

“You did,” he said, tugging on my ponytail. “Lock your doors, Killer.”

He gave Lacey a warm hug and shook Olly’s hand, then very formally thanked Nick for inviting him before wandering over to the bar cart.

“How’s your chemist?” I asked in a low voice, following him.

“No idea,” was his reply. “She broke up with me fifteen minutes before our lunch date today.”