“Better get your booty moving. Lots of boxes due in”—I glance at my phone to check the time—“negative three minutes.”

Groaning, he stomps to the back, where the delivery truck is blasting its heinously loud moving-in-reverse beeps.

And now I won’t have to stand there, listening to it at close range, or get super sweaty from unloading before my first let’s be friends dinner with Jamie.

Glorious, beautiful revenge.

The truck finally stops beeping, followed by the sound of its door rolling up. Toni swears foully in Polish, then continues muttering to himself. My name’s definitely in the mix of words that I can’t begin to translate.

“Just because I can’t understand it,” I yell, “doesn’t mean I don’t know it’s nasty!”

“Ask me if I care!” he hollers back.

Savoring the ensuing quiet, I go back to drawing again. I’m given only a two-minute reprieve before the overhead bell dings and Jules sweeps in.

“Hi, BeeBee!” My sister smiles, gliding her way around the circular front display table that Toni just reconfigured.

“JuJu.” I focus on my sketch pad, letting my pen go where it wants. But what it wants is a little unsettling.

Jamie. Jamie. Jamie.

Argh! This has to stop.

“Whatcha drawing?” she asks sweetly, leaning her elbows on the glass top.

I slam my sketchbook shut, then slide it into my messenger bag. “Nothing.”

Jules watches me gather my pens and phone, then swipe on some tinted lip balm. “Almost time for your date?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I scowl at her, caught in a twisty tangle of aggravation and begrudging love. I want to grab her shoulders and shake sense into her. I know she only wants to see me on my way to happiness, but I wish she hadn’t done such a shitty thing to try to get me there.

It’s weird, feeling vindictive toward someone who—despite how angry she’s made me—I still love deeply. I want to punish Jules for going too far. And I also want our old closeness, so I can tell her everything. But I can’t have both. I’ve chosen to teach her a lesson, and that requires emotional distance.

“Bea,” Jules says impatiently, frowning at me. “Where’d you go?”

I pop another of Toni’s raspberry cookies in my mouth. “I was, uh . . . daydreaming.”

“About Jamie?”

About revenge.

Her smile is so self-satisfied. I barely stop myself from lobbing a cookie at her head. Toni’s baking is too precious to waste. “Mind your beeswax, Juliet.”

“Since when do I do that? Ooh, those look good.” She reaches for the plate of cookies, but I slap her hand away.

“No sweet treats for meddlers.”