I did know how he felt about it. He made a point to remind anyone who’d listen that he’d struggled with a “little gambling thing” in his early twenties, and even casual use of the term bet made him wag his finger.

“I only buy them once in a while,” I’d said. “And it’s not like I’m trying to become a multimillionaire. People win the smaller amounts all the time. We just need—”

“A hundred and eighty thousand dollars?” he’d asked, and he had let out a sigh of frustration when I averted my eyes. “Come on, Paula. How many times do we have to go over this? We can’t afford it. You have to let it go.”

As I stood there weeks later and stared at the tickets, I wondered, not nearly for the first time, if Keith was right.

Maybe I should just let it all go.

I stuffed the tickets in my purse and looped the strap over my shoulder before walking toward the door.

But I stopped abruptly in the middle of the living room.

The only excuse for what I did next is that I was angry, sad, and feeling sorry for myself. And that misery does, indeed, love company.

For no good reason at all, I spun around and darted back across the room, just four quick, quiet steps in the direction of the bedroom where Keith was fast asleep.

Shelby reacted immediately.

In an instant, she was up on all fours, just as I knew she would be.

The pretense of sleep long gone, she panted loudly, her gray eyes cutting through the moonlit room. I stared back smugly, prouder of myself than any decent person should be, and turned to leave the apartment.

“See ya, sleepyhead,” I said as I turned and walked out the door.

Chapter 2

The rain had let up by the time I left the house, but the oppressive, muggy heat remained, wrapping itself around me as I walked the four blocks to Deluxe Diner, my part-time gig, oft-time home away from home. It wasn’t the first time I’d shown up at the dusty, vinyl-covered restaurant at two in the morning with IKEA-sized shopping bags beneath my eyes.

My boss, David, was standing behind the counter as I walked in, and he tossed his head back dramatically when he saw me. “It hasn’t even been twelve hours, Paula,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “You know we’ve got labor laws around here. Can’t have you burning customers with coffee or shaking bleach in the eggs instead of salt ’cause you’re half-asleep.”

He walked around the counter and stood in front of me. He was a tall teddy bear of a man with thinning but neatly combed hair that was so black, it had to have a name, like midnight ink or shimmering onyx. He stared at me, the concern evident on his face.