Page 4 of The Best Friend Power Play

Evie: "The joys of living in a small town."

Summer: "Hey, I've been swooning all the way from LA. Seriously, Evie. What Fraser did is…"

"Swoony?" I offer, since it seems to be the word of the morning.

Evie doesn't just look happy—she's positively glowing. I've never seen her happier.

"I feel like this is all a dream, you guys. I still can't believe it's real. That I actually own a hockey stadium and will finally get to put all my extensive practice at critiquing hockey to good use. I'm so lucky."

"Fraser's the lucky one," I point out, looping my arm over her shoulder, which is totally an act of friendship and in no way related to my legs starting to give out on me. We've almost reached the summit, and I am seriously pooped this morning.

Evie, being the good friend that she is, readjusts how she's walking to accommodate the extra weight. "The only bad thing about it is that I'm going to have even less free time now," she says. "This could be my last weekly walk for a while."

"Oh, so that's the excuse you're using," Beth teases, since Evie isn't known for being a fan of getting out of bed in the A.M. portion of the day.

"Hey, it's not my fault the sun rises so early," Evie whines.

We're all smiling as we reach the peak—a little out of breath, but smiling.

"The other bad thing about Fraser's epic grand gesture is that it's going to make it hard for anyone else to match it," Beth says, pulling out her phone.

"How can they?" Amiel asks. "What Fraser did was ripped straight out of a romance bestseller."

"It's not a competition," Evie says, then scrunches up her nose. "Wait. You don't think other guys are going to get all competitive about it, do you?"

Our collective silence says what we're all thinking: that yeah, guys being guys, they're going to get all competitive about it.

"Silver lining," Amiel says, crouching down to fix her shoelace. "With the bar set so high, we're in for a treat…assuming we can get a date."

"I'm all for it," Summer says. "If guys want to improve their dating game, let them. Single ladies deserve to be treated better."

"Hear, hear," Beth says, waving us in nice and close to snap a group selfie.

I manage a smile that I hope masks my tiredness, then plonk my butt down on the bench, exhaling loudly.

I've been pushing myself too hard these past few months, never fully realizing who really bears the brunt of graduation season.

No, not the students—the parents and carers.

I now get why it's called Maycemeber. It's a non-stop barrage of end-of-year concerts, meltdowns, state playoffs, and academic deadlines, not to mention the graduation ceremony and celebration afterward.

It's over now, but May really was a blur.

The top of the sun peeks over the horizon and the conversation quiets into a hushed whisper between Beth and Amiel.

Probably about books.

"The one trope I can't stand is marriage of convenience," Amiel whispers.

Yep. I was right.

I introduced Amiel to the group a few months ago. Everyone adores her, but I love seeing how well she and Beth in particular get along. Beth is—how can I put it delicately?—somewhat of an acquired taste. It's nice seeing her bond with the latest member of the Fast-Talking formerly-Four-now-Five.

Beth tucks a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear and asks Amiel, "What's your beef with marriage of convenience?"

"It never happens in real life," she answers. "At least not in modern times. I like my romances to have a bit of escapism as much as the next girl, but come on—fake marriages are way too far-fetched."

"Actually," Summer chimes in. "Speaking as a lawyer, it's not completely unheard of…"

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