“Hey, Joy?” Summer stands in the doorway waiting to be invited in. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Maybe not.

Joy checks the time. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”

“Malcolm says the car is like fifteen minutes away.”

Ever meticulous, instead of leaving Fox and Joy stranded he decided to leave them the Jeep.

“I’m not feeling all that great.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’ll be really quick. It’s about Fox.”

“Fox?” Joy asks, surprised.

Summer walks into the room, shutting the door behind her and surprising Joy again. All she needs is anything that resembles an opening and she barges straight in. She doesn’t get too close—if she turns back the doorknob is in reaching distance—and her stance is plagued by fidgeting nerves. She asks, “Do you like him?”

“Yeah. He’s great.”

“I think so too. He’s always looking out for me, even when I don’t want him to. And he’s the absolute worst when he’s right about something. There’s people who say I told you so, and then there’s Fox.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just um, I’ve noticed that you two have been really getting along,” she says. “I saw the pictures in your powershots. He’s, umm, really private, you know?”

“It’s not like they were candids. I asked his permission before I posted them. He said it was fine as long as I didn’t tag him, which I didn’t, so.”

“Right. And it’s just, he never poses for pictures.” Summer’s wavering smile dips. “For anyone.”

“I feel like this is going somewhere, very slowly, and I have a bit of a headache, so if you could hit that fast-forward button for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him this interested in someone this fast. So either you’re some kind of magical love goddess”—her smile grows and then shrinks—“or he’s faking it.”

“Faking it?” Joy repeats, careful to keep her tone even and not give away how confused she feels. She figures this can go one of two ways.

One: intentionally admit to everything and play it off like a ridiculous joke.

Two: call a spade a spade.

Joy makes a guess based on Summer’s body language. “You think Fox is pretending to like me? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. Why would he do that?”

“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Her face screws up in consternation. “Shit. That sounded horrible. I’m sorry. I mean, he’s very reserved, you know? Seriously emotionally closed off. The way he is with you isn’t him—at least it’s not the Fox that I know. I’m not saying it couldn’t be him, just that it’s . . . different. And it happened really fast.”