“You still have an HR file, don’t you? It’ll be easiest if I drop by after work. And we have a lot to discuss.”

We have a lot to discuss. It was uncomfortably close to We need to talk. Ominous.

She shuddered. “I guess Simon told you about his new venture.”

“Yes,” Vivian said curtly. “We’ll talk about it later. Look for me around seven thirty.”

“Oh. Okay. Call me if—”

“I will.” Vivian disconnected.

Jules looked around her apartment again, at the shelves that badly needed dusting, at the rugs begging for the touch of a vacuum.

Great. She’d always wanted to spend her birthday cleaning house. This was the worst day ever.

It was three thirty now, though, so she had a decent lead time. Jules sighed, rolled up her sweatshirt sleeves, and got to work.

Her parents called at five. Jules absolutely, positively couldn’t handle that conversation, so she listened to their birthday greetings via voicemail and tried not to cry again.

Midway through scouring the bathtub, she thought, This isn’t too bad. Cleaning kept her mind off other things like, say, the future. Or maybe that was just the bleach killing her brain cells. Either way, by the time seven p.m. rolled around, Jules’s apartment was cleaner than it had been in months.

Then it was her turn. She scrubbed off her sweat in the shower. She’d spent a lot of time in this shower thinking about Vivian, first stewing over her standards and demands. Then it turned into sympathy, confusion, longing, and by their second time in London, it was impossible to figure out which feelings were which. Just lately it had been relentless fantasizing about Vivian being as naked as Jules was under the spray.

She loved those fantasies. She loved the reality even more. Whether it was Vivian naked or clothed, Vivian being infuriating or funny or haughty or sexy, Vivian giving Jules an arch look while Jules rubbed her feet. Pushing her leftover Christmas pudding toward Jules and acting like it was no big deal. Jules loved…

I love…

With a shriek, Jules threw her loofah sponge against the tile wall. It bounced off harmlessly.

She put her head against the wall, pressed her lips together. Don’t break down now. She’ll be here soon.

By the time she’d collected herself and put on clean leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt, it was seven twenty. She settled in to wait.

Vivian didn’t disappoint. At seven twenty-nine, Jules’s doorbell buzzed, and at seven thirty on the dot, Vivian had climbed the stairs and was standing in the doorway.

“Uh, c’mon in.” She stood to the side. “Hi.”

“Mm,” Vivian said as she entered, looking around the apartment.

Jules’s insides tightened up. Vivian lived in a house right out of a showroom. Not to mention…