“Come to the office as soon as you’ve dropped off your stuff,” he said.

She called her parents at the baggage claim. “Glad you’re home safe, sweetheart,” her dad said. “And she’s still back there?”

“Yes. She’s flying in tomorrow.”

“And she behaved herself?” His voice was hard.

Unfortunately, grievously, tragically, “Yes, she did. I told you it’s not like that.” Because life sucked.

“Well,” her dad said, “okay.”

She splurged on an Uber and made it back to her apartment, which Jules tried not to compare to Vivian’s London place. She was going to miss sleeping in Rob—in the second bedroom, where Vivian had definitely never had sex with Robert, as Jules had told herself every single night with different feelings on the subject each time.

She took a quick shower, telling herself that it was good to hit the ground running. Keeping busy was the best way to avoid spending all her time feverishly thinking about what it would be like to have sex with Vivian. The best part of her relationship with Chelsea had been the sex. Somehow, Jules was absolutely certain that it’d be even better with Vivian because the woman was the best at everything she did.

Jules was pretty sure that a week ago the very thought of having sex with Vivian would have horrified her. Well, okay, not horrified. If you were horrified by the thought of having sex with someone, you didn’t imagine them in lingerie.

At some point, she was going to run out of ways to call herself an idiot.

Either way, Jules wouldn’t have had the guts to sit around and think about Vivian’s breasts and wonder if they were sensitive. Or if Vivian made noises. Or if Vivian liked having sex at all because it was entirely possible that she didn’t, no matter who it was with. Or if it would even be safe for her to do it now. All the information said it was “during most normal pregnancies.” But what about this was normal?

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t going to happen.

Jules dosed herself liberally with coffee on the way back to Du Jour. She still wasn’t prepared to go to her desk and be accosted by Simon within seconds.

“Well?” he said. “What kind of mood was she in yesterday?”

“Nice to see you too.”

He waved negligently. “Blah, blah, blah. Where’s my keychain with a little red phone booth on it?”

Jules grinned and held out the souvenir she’d bought for him in Heathrow.

Simon dangled the keychain from his fingers with a moue of distaste. “This is a teapot.”

She kept a straight face. “Teapots are in right now. Phone booths are passé. Vivian told me so herself.”

“Is that so?” Simon tucked the keychain into the pocket of his plaid pants. “I repeat: how is she?”

“Oh, you know,” Jules hedged. “Fine. The usual.”