My grin could crack my face in half as I stroll up behind her. This is for the best but it’s completely casual to run your fingers through your business partner’s hair, right? It must be. I even lift my hand, the grocery bag obstructing any chance of me touching her, until she throws her head back and laughs again and I see the person making her make that sound.

“Paul?” I stop, the heavy bag pulling my arm back down. He straightens from where he was leaning against the bar.

“Hey, Soph.” He smiles. “How are you?” We do that awkward dance, shuffling then stopping until he takes the initiative and closes the gap between us, holding me gently by my biceps and kissing each cheek. “Good to see you,” he murmurs.

“You, too. What are you guys...” I gesture between them. I got the distinct feeling that Amy didn’t like Paul the last time he was here. But she laughed her real laugh, her big laugh, with him just now.

“Paul stopped by while I was doing some paperwork.” A two-top is strewn with her binders and her old brick of a laptop. “We’ve been chatting.”

“About what?” My fingers pulse as the plastic bags cut off my circulation and I swallow a quick shot of shame that I didn’t pick up my fabric ones on the way out the door.

They wouldn’t talk about me? Would they? Somehow, I’ve gone thirty years without ever having two lovers in the same room at the same time. I’ve quite possibly never felt so awkward in my whole life.

“Restaurants,” he says. He smiles strangely, his face asking, why are you being weird?

“Right. Restaurants.” Turns out I’m not the only thing they have in common; arrogant of me to think so, frankly. There’s hours of conversation in restaurants.

“But now that you’re here...” He pauses dramatically, ever the showman. “A lot of people don’t know this, but Camilla has been quite involved in our selection process. She saw your application tape and read up on this place.” He looks around approvingly.

This place has good bones. I felt it the moment I walked in. The decor is bright, and even with the lights off and the seats empty, I could tell it was special.

That’s because of Amy.

She’d never admit it but it’s her heart in here that makes it feel this way, like you’ve been here before, like you’re coming home.

“Camilla insisted that we include Amy & May’s in our first season.”

The words hang in the silent dining room for a moment until, like we’re both on a timer, Amy and I turn to each other. She doesn’t squeal or scream or throw her hands in the air. She just smiles, a little crookedly, and says, “Holy shit, Hollywood.”

I laugh. “If I’m Hollywood, then what should I call you? Boston?”

She cracks her knuckles. “You got us here. You can call me whatever you want.”