I try very hard not to stare at the sweet curve of her backside as Bea strolls ahead of me, her long, purposeful stride punctuated by the thud of her boots.

I am miserably unsuccessful.

When I shut the door behind us, she hitches herself onto the exam table, paper crinkling beneath her legs. Glancing around, she admires the decorative border on the walls littered with woodland creatures, including hedgehogs, which I know she loves, seeing as she has one for a pet. “Nice.”

“I figured you’d appreciate the décor.”

“They don’t hold a candle to Cornelius,” she says, “but they’ll do.”

Then she holds out the tea and the small parchment bag for me to take. I set down the bag but keep the tea, popping off the lid. It’s gunpowder green all right. Earthy and bitter. It smells incredible.

“Thank you for this,” I tell her, sipping it carefully. “What brings you here . . . with tea?”

She grimaces, scrunching one eye shut. “I have a confession to make. And an apology.”

“That sounds grim.”

Taking a deep breath, she straightens and says, “Jules told me something in the restroom Friday. The friends weren’t in on the date setup.”

I nearly drop my tea. “What?”

“I mean, they definitely played with us at the party. But Jules said setting up that date was her only recourse, according to her, and only she and Jean-Claude coordinated that. So we haven’t been made complete fools of. I should have told you right when I found out, but I was selfish and the thought of letting go of my chance to get back at them . . .” Her voice trails off, and she scrubs her face before letting her hands fall to her lap. “I’m angry at my sister, and honestly, I’m still pissed at my friends. They didn’t take it as far as her, but—”

“They were still pushy at the party.”

Bea blinks at me in surprise. “Well, yeah.”

“You didn’t think I’d see your side of things?”

She shrugs. “I guess I thought you seemed pretty willing to forgive them when we first found out. I figured once I told you the truth, you’d want out.”

“And . . . you don’t want out.”

“No,” she admits. “I want to make a fucking point. I want them to back off on me and my dating life for good, but you’re part of this fiasco, and you deserve the truth and a say in how we go forward.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, for me to formulate my own. “This doesn’t change things for me. I hardly know your friends. When I agreed to it, I was in it to stick it to Jean-Claude and get him off my back.”

“So, we’re still on?” she asks carefully.

“We’re still on.”