“I don’t want to just come out and ask. That’s boring. I want to make her feel special, you know? So I thought: What if I planned a trip specifically for her? We’d do everything that she loves, a whole weekend in her honor, and then at the end, I’ll stage a moment when it’s just the two of us and I’ll ask her.”

This is how Malcolm, a hopeless romantic and serial monogamist, dates—he doesn’t.

All his ex-partners came from their friend group. It always starts casual, hanging out and getting to know them, no pressure or pretense. Malcolm gets his patented “feeling,” and one sincere heart-to-heart later they go straight from friends to being in a relationship. It’s like a light switch flipping, friends to lovers so fast there should probably be a scientific formula to measure it.

Joy would know. She’s witnessed the shift enough times. What’s that saying? Always the bridesmaid, never the bride? That’s her. By his side for ten years and he’s never once made that record breaking shift with her. After the past year, after everything they’ve been through, she really thought—

“Joy? Are you listening to me?”

“Of course I’m not.” She frowns for a second before forcing herself to smile to keep him from reading her face, which he’s an expert at. He’s figured out how to guess her moods with ease, so she’s learned how to trick him.

“Anyway, so Fox is coming too.”

Joy discreetly reaches for the stress ball on her desk and holds it in her lap. Aiming for disinterested, she asks, “And who the hell is Fox?”

“I just told you. Were you really not listening?”

“I said I wasn’t.”

“I assumed that was a joke.”

“You know what they say when you assume,” she says. “You make an ass out of you, Malcolm Evans.”

“Joy.”

“What?” Joy snickers, giving the stress ball a mighty squeeze. Dad joke humor would get her through this hellacious situation one way or another. “Sorry. Please continue. You have the full remainder of my divided attention.”

Malcolm levels a glare at her that doesn’t last, softening in seconds. “When I invited Summer, I told her she could bring someone too because I thought she’d pick Fiona or anyone else besides Fox Yes-That’s-My-Real-Name Monahan. But apparently it’s his birthday.” He rolls his eyes.

Not just Summer—there’s also a Fox and a Fiona and an anyone else. It’s like he suddenly has an entire second life he didn’t tell her about. Why would he do that? She tries to not feel hurt. It’s not like he isn’t allowed to have friends, or he must introduce her to every person he meets. But it’s just . . . that he usually does. He always has.

“And I take it you don’t like this Fox person?”