“Tilly does seem a little frigid, I guess.”

“Frigid?” Grace scoffed. “Tilly’s unfuckable.”

The deafening wheeze of the hand dryer drowned out the pounding of Kate’s pulse in her ears. She turned the latch and stepped out.

Grace turned at the hand dryer. Lexi looked up from washing her hands. And never, in all her years of teaching, had Kate seen two girls go sheet white.

She crossed the bathroom to the sinks, the hand dryer continuing its rumble. Finally, it stopped. Silence settled like a plague.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Grace said softly, voice thick and cheeks quickly growing bright. “Kate, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I didn’t mean it.”

Roughly, Kate pressed soap into her palm, her jaw set hard with annoyance. “Exactly which part didn’t you mean?”

“All of it,” Grace said instantly, blood charging to her neck in a humiliated rush.

Kate looked up into the mirror at their regretful expressions. She dropped her gaze back to wringing her hands. “I can’t look at either of you right now. Go and get in the van.”

Lowering the iron to the sleeve of her blazer, Kate chanced a glance toward the closed bathroom door of their hotel room. Tilly had been in there for a while—it had been almost forty minutes since Kate had finished showering and declared the bathroom free.

Steam puffed from the iron and Kate yanked her left hand from the edge of the board. Fuck. She felt like she was on another planet altogether. She looked down at her watch. The little hand was only on the five and already she was dreading going to sleep that night, only a narrow bedside table between their double beds. As the day had gone on, Tilly had relaxed, but the tension had yet to disperse.

She concentrated on ironing away the largest crease, and when the fold was still visible, upped the heat just enough to be sure the fabric wouldn’t mark. Tilly had taught her even this. How many afternoons had they spent in the convent as teenagers, Kate helping Tilly with her ironing chores while the sisters were at evening mass? How many baby-blue habits had Kate spent hours ironing just so she could have her best friend all to herself down by the cove a little earlier?

The bathroom door opened, and Kate’s gaze lifted. Her stomach bottomed out.

“Do I look silly?”

Kate shook her head. “No.”

Silly was the last word in the English language Kate would use to describe the way Tilly looked in the simple black dress, the neckline scooped below her collarbone, the sleeves tight to where they finished at her elbows. “You look beautiful.” Her long tresses were freed, and for the first time ever, Tilly appeared to be wearing lipstick. “I just…I’ve never seen you wear anything above the knee…you know, other than your PJs. For a while there, I wondered if you had knees.”

Tilly laughed as she gathered her dark hair around her neck to fumble through her suitcase. “Don’t get too excited,” Tilly said, “I am wearing stockings.”