Opening the cupcake container, I pull out two, then set one in front of him. “Cheers to that.” I knock our cupcakes together before taking a hefty bite. “Better late than never to make childhood dreams come true.”

He frowns at the cupcake. “I don’t eat sweets before dinner. No judgment, facts. You shouldn’t, either—it’s hard on the endocrine system.”

“I make my endocrine system earn its keep.” Smiling around my bite, I lick icing caught at the corner of my mouth. “They’re pretty delicious if you want to keep your pancreas on its toes. No pressure to bend the rules a little, but if you do, I won’t tell a soul.”

Jamie stares at my mouth before his gaze dances up and meets mine. I watch hesitation play out before he makes his decision.

“Well,” he finally says, carefully peeling back the paper, “I suppose one predinner cupcake won’t hurt.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He grins. A crooked, soft Jamie grin that once again fills my heart to a shimmering, golden pop. “I have a feeling you’re going to be a bad influence, Beatrice.”

“Ah, James,” I tell him through the buttercream sweetness lighting up my tongue. “Now you’re catching on.”

· FOURTEEN ·

Jamie

God’s looking out for me on Friday, because no patients arrive too late, no evening appointments run long, and when I finally make my way home, my wristwatch reassures me that I won’t be late to bowling.

After sanitizing with a scalding shower and a change of clothes, I gather what I need, throw on a jacket, and rush downstairs. I check my watch again—eight thirty. Enough time to walk over to Bea’s and catch a cab to the Alley together.

JAMIE: I’m on time. Headed your way. Can I order a cab?

BEA: Yep. All set to go.

JAMIE: As in truly, really, all ready to go?

BEA: If you’re implying that because I’m a chick, I can’t get myself ready on time, that’s pretty sexist.

BEA: On second thought, why don’t you schedule that cab for 8:50.

Once I’ve ordered the taxi, I pocket my phone and enjoy the walk to Bea’s, taking in dusk’s cool lilac and pale pink streaks. As soon as I buzz, she lets me in.

Two flights of stairs later, I cross the landing. Her door is wide open, mellow funk music wafting from it, along with a faint thudding sound whose origins I honestly can’t begin to guess. I shut the door behind me and quickly have my answer.

“Hi,” Bea says around something clenched in her teeth. She hops on one foot before she sets it down and slams her heel. “Damn boots.”