Malcolm gets the message, and he doesn’t like it. But trust overrides the worry in his eyes—he straightens up and reaches into his pocket. “One hour.” He places the keys onto her palm.

“I have executive dysfunction. Time means nothing to me.”

“Joy.”

“I love you. Very much.” Joy gazes up at him, smile set to stun. “If I die, remember those were my last words.”

“We’re not going to die.” Summer giggles. Joy is beginning to think that’s her natural response to everything. “Why would you say that?”

“I literally jumped into a lake an hour ago. Being dramatic and giving Malcolm gray hair is my lifeblood.” Joy gestures toward Fox, who hasn’t moved. “I see you must have worked the same magic on him already.”

“Oh no, he’s been gray since high school.” At that, Fox walks out in a frustrated huff and the room is blessed with more Summer giggles. “He’s very sensitive about it.”

In the car, Summer jumps into the passenger seat, immediately queuing up her playlist again.

“Actually, let’s not.” Joy adjusts the mirrors. “I need to concentrate on the directions.”

“Oh sure.” Summer enters the address into the Jeep’s built-in navigation system and puts her seatbelt on.

Joy backs out of the driveway smooth as butter. Once they’re on the road, Joy glances at Summer out of the corner of her eye. She’s looking straight ahead, hands in her lap with a pleased look on her pleasant face.

Agreeing to one-on-one time with Summer wasn’t the worst idea. Caroline aside, Joy always tried to give his partners a fair shot. A blank slate to get to know them. If they weren’t important to Malcolm, he wouldn’t have chosen them, so she’d hoped they’d be important to her too. Eventually.

More than a few of Malcolm’s exes, of which there are many, were two-faced as hell. That second face never appeared while he was around. Some snapped faster than others. Some hissed the truth at her the moment Malcolm turned away. Some fooled her for an entire year. She’d truly seen it all.

It didn’t help that Joy was petty. She wouldn’t know how to be the bigger person if she took an immersive course on it. The second they acted out of pocket, the moral high ground ceased to exist. Michelle Obama she was not—if they went low, Joy went to hell. Jesus could walk out the pearly gates and down that stairway to heaven and she’d look him dead in the eye and say, “They started it! I’ll stop if you ask me to, but you saw what they did!”

Now or never, she thinks to herself. “So, Malcolm says you met at a failed meetup?”