Bridget’s condo had become their default hang-out spot. Finley’s and Meadow’s houses were located outside city limits on opposite sides of Misty River. Bridget’s house was located in the middle, tucked into a cute neighborhood downtown. Plus, it was always tidy.

Finley had met Bridget her freshman year of college, when they’d lived on the same floor in the dorm at the University of Georgia. Bridget was shy, sweet, supportive, and highly organized. She’d invited Finley to her hometown of Misty River one weekend, and thank goodness Finley had said yes, because two momentous things had happened on that trip.

One, Bridget had introduced Finley to her hometown friend, Meadow, who was three years ahead of them in school. Two, Finley had fallen in love with the town and announced to both Meadow (whom she’d known for two-and-a-half minutes) and Bridget (whom she’d known a couple of months) that she’d move here as soon as she graduated.

She’d followed through on that promise. And when Finley had left her first job at the art gallery to work at Furry Tails full time, Bridget had taken her position at the gallery—and proved herself far better at it than Finley had ever been.

Meadow sat on the edge of her chair, practically vibrating with energy. Despite her name, nothing about Meadow brought to mind peaceful green expanses of grass. With a firm face and compact body, Meadow resembled the singer Pink. She’d played up the resemblance by cutting her hair in a short upswept style and dying it fuchsia. Today, she wore her usual uniform—a tank top and cotton pants designed with a crotch that hovered at mid-thigh.

Meadow’s hair, outfits, nose ring, and upper-arm tattoos might not scream “successful entrepreneur,” but that’s exactly what she was. She’d started working for her family’s struggling peach orchard immediately after college. She was thirty-three now and had turned the orchard into a thriving company. Thanks to her, they shipped peach candles, peach pies, peach jam, and much more across the United States and beyond. Their orchard had become one of Misty River’s most popular tourist attractions.

“So?” Meadow prodded. “How’s Luke? Is he a jerk?”

“No. He’s gruff and . . . aloof. But I like him.”

“Finley!” Meadow exclaimed. “You’re fanatically determined to see the best in every person and dog alive.”

“Not fanatically determined,” Finley corrected. “Just determined.”

“Do you like him like him?” Bridget asked in her calm way. “Or just like him as a person in a general way?”

“Are you asking that because you’re interested in Luke Dempsey?” Meadow demanded.

Bridget’s hands folded in her lap. “He’s a handsome single man in his early thirties who is new to town. Of course I’m interested.”