They’d ended it at Quinn’s house, and her mother had arranged the ultimate sleepover for her and Maggie. She had ice cream laid out on the kitchen counter with every topping imaginable in tiny bowls around it. They’d rented movies—the old-school way, before internet streaming came along—and her mom had whispered to Quinn how thankful she was that they’d come home safely and not chosen to go party.

Quinn wasn’t the type to put her mother through that kind of emotional distress, even when Maggie sometimes hinted they were missing out. Quinn was just glad to have gone to the prom at all, since she wouldn’t have if not for Maggie.

As soon as the thought came to mind, Quinn lifted her eyes to see Maggie—first one off the plane, of course—making a beeline straight for her. She looked different—more mature and vulnerable, even—but those lively green eyes were the same. They practically danced with excitement.

Instantly all Quinn’s doubts were gone. Nothing had changed. They still had their bond.

They met in the middle, and Maggie dropped her bags and enveloped Quinn in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground an inch or so. Quinn laughed through the tears that were falling and felt her heart rush with emotion.

When they let go, she put the lei around Maggie, who was also shedding a few tears.

“Your hair!” Quinn said, reaching for a long red strand. It fell almost to Maggie’s waist in a dancing wave of movement, flowing like fire.

She laughed. “I know. I was trying to have a totally different look, so I stopped coloring it and let it have its way. And they were right—blondes do have more fun. I need to find my way back.”

“No, you don’t. It’s beautiful this way,” Quinn said. It reminded Quinn of the days before they’d both discovered hair color and highlights. “And you look great. You’ve lost a lot of weight, though.” She couldn’t get enough of looking at her, dissecting each change.

“It’s been a stressful few years.” Maggie lifted an eyebrow, reminding Quinn of their long conversation the night before.

“Well, let’s get out of here,” Quinn said, picking up the carry-on bag that Maggie had dropped. “Did you check luggage too?”

“Nope. This is it. You know me, I like to be free as a bird.”

That was the Maggie Quinn remembered—the fiery redhead who had helped her through some of life’s most angst-filled moments. She squeezed her one more time for good measure, feeling surreal that she was really there in the flesh, and they headed for the door.