“She might like that,” Dorothy mused, and picked out the girl’s initials. “Thanks, Mr. Harper.” She moved closer to the bed. “Natalie said you’ve been sick. What’s the matter?”

“I have symptoms,” he said. “The doctors say it’s idiopathic. I think that means the doctor’s an idiot and the patient’s pathetic.”

Dorothy leaned down and gave him a quick hug. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”

“That hug just made me feel a hundred times better,” said Grandy.

Natalie was putting the finishing touches on the gift wrap when a supermodel walked through the door. Maybe she wasn’t a supermodel, but she looked like one and even carried herself like one—confidence edged with hauteur. She was tall and slender, with pin-straight golden hair and enormous eyes, professionally lashed; flawless makeup and manicure; heeled boots and a luxurious coat that looked as though it had stepped off the runway.

Dorothy waved at the woman. “Hi, Mom,” she said.

Natalie had to regroup at lightning speed. This glorious unicorn woman was Dorothy’s mother? Peach’s ex? What the—

She pushed the brightly wrapped parcel across the counter. “I think Dorothy picked just the right thing for her friend’s birthday.”

“That’s great. Good work, you two,” said the woman, handing over her platinum card.

Regina. Peach had mentioned that name.

“Thanks for your help.” Regina looked around the shop, taking in the cozy seating areas, the cat curled up in front of the electric fire. “I can see why Dorothy likes this place.”

“Thanks,” said Natalie. Her mind raced over the idea that Peach had been married to this gorgeous creature.

And now he wasn’t.

None of which had anything to do with her.

With a careful smile, she handed over the card and the gift. “Have fun at the party,” she said to Dorothy.

“I’ll try.”

“‘Overrated’ is a perfectly good rhyme with ‘complicated,’” Suzzy said to Peach. She sat at the studio piano, their songwriting notes propped on a music stand.

“Yeah, but complicated? Everybody writes that song.”

“Because everybody likes songs about complicated relationships. Because everybody loves them—including you.”

He’d thought about calling Natalie, but never got around to it. She was probably busy with her sick grandfather. Could be a certain famous writer was keeping her busy, too.

“Speak for yourself,” he said to Suzzy. “I don’t do so hot with complicated women.”

“Or as most people call them, women,” Suzzy answered, scowling at the pages. The writing session was dragging today. Nothing seemed to work as they struggled through a song about a rain check. Some days, writing flowed like butter. Other days it was like passing a kidney stone.

“Yeah, why is that?”

“Seriously,” said Suzzy, “if you’re looking for an uncomplicated relationship, get a dog.”