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“My wife’s a big fan, and I’d love to introduce you.”

She looked down at Micky and back at me. “We’re going on a field trip. That okay?”

I laughed, surprised at her commitment. “By all means.”

I searched out a beverage, stoked to find a large dispenser of fresh lemonade, and watched from a distance as Carrie and my dog posed for the photo. Once that happened, it was like she’d opened the floodgates, and there was an informal line of staff family members who wanted to say hello and grab a selfie with her. Her job was never really done. To her credit, she didn’t seem to mind and smiled and laughed at all the right moments. I remembered her body pressed to mine in the editing bay, and my cheeks went red-hot.

“How’s it going, Skyler? Enjoying yourself?” Carlos rocked back on his heels, wearing plaid shorts and a white polo.

“I am. Steal any stories lately?” I said it with a wide, friendly grin so he knew we were okay, but that I also saw him for who he was and what he was willing to do.

He considered my question. “I don’t know. Any more Seth spottings I could get in on?” He was ribbing me, but in a playful way. “What about Thomas, or Kenneth? Got any of those?”

“I’ll have you know that they caught Seth. My story got his photo out there, and the tip line blew up.” Apparently, the whole neighborhood knew Seth and his ineptness and just needed a little prompting to call in. I loved it when my work made a difference somewhere. It made the job all the more gratifying.

“Job well done,” he said sincerely and touched his beer can to my cup. “It’s rough out there, and you’re holding your own. The world is noticing. Trust me. Tam sure is.”

I squinted. “How do you know that?” I hadn’t received much feedback from the man himself, outside of a polite nod or small talk before he headed back to his office with the army of television screens. I imagined him mainlining popcorn and taking furious notes on all the other stations, sacrificing sleep and sanity.

“Easy.” Carlos widened his eyes. “Because you’re still here. They don’t wait too long before deciding someone isn’t the right fit. You seem to have made the cut.” He raised his can at me a final time and trotted off because they’d called for anyone who wanted to play touch football.

I stood on my own and absorbed what he’d said.I made the cut. Understanding and relief flooded, and I bopped my head to the music, on a high. I was safe. Thus far in my new life, I was doing okay. Better than okay, really. It was in that moment that Carrie turned her head, midconversation with one of the studio camera guys and his wife. She met my gaze and latched, Micky now sitting patiently wrapped around her ankle. The exchange was private, and colored by the knowledge of all we’d done together and all the things I still wanted to do. She broke into a soft smile, and I longed to do them then and there. Instead, I sipped my lemonade, exercising patience I didn’t know I had. She was already changing my life.

An hour later, after we’d both been stolen away into conversations with other people, I found myself, at last, free. I scanned the groundsand found her alone at the condiments table assembling a burger. “Lettuce placement is important,” she said as I approached.

“Define.”

She gestured to the leafy green in her hand. “Can’t have soggy lettuce. You have to keep it away from the ketchup. Give it its own side of the burger where it can hang out in peace. Crunchy. Leafy.” She placed the lettuce on the opposite bun from the one she’d already added ketchup and mayonnaise to. “Follow me for more tips.” She winked.

“You make a compelling case. You might have a shadow,” I said, touching her wrist and causing her to go still. She rolled her lips in. I removed my hand. Just a little reminder of our sizzle, which seemed to have had the effect I’d intended.

“I’m not sure I mind that sentence,” she said. More of that torturous prolonged eye contact. How long until I could touch her again the way I wanted to? She had other plans. “Come on. Let’s check out the egg toss. Important picnic component. I’d hate for you to miss out on the basics.”

“There’s an egg toss?”

“Every year.” She grabbed her plate, and we headed out. “I used to partner with Rory, but we broke up over a difference in strategy. He’s too aggressive out there. This whole thing depends on the throw-catch relationship. Looking for a new partner now. Game?”

I paused, understanding. “Are you suggestingweenterthe egg tossing competition? What if the egg I throw breaks all over you?” I stared in abject terror at her perfectly fitting sundress that was best egg-free. How could I live with myself if I changed that?

“Then I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me,” she said quietly. “Won’t you, Skyler?”

I sucked in air. Point taken. I definitely could.

As we waited for our official number to be called, Lucy appeared in picnic glamour. A red plaid sleeveless top and white shorts. She scooped up Micky and agreed to babysit during the competition. As we chatted, I watched Carrie attempt to eat her cheeseburger amid several interruptions. A bite here. A handshake and introduction to someone. A bite there. A photo with a well-wisher. Another bite. Oh, to be that burger.

“Gonna bring it home this year, Carrie?” Kip from sports asked as he stretched. Literally stretched. Apparently, these people took egg tossing way more seriously than I would have guessed.

“You know it,” she said, dabbing the ketchup daintily from the sideof her mouth after a hearty bite. She was like one of those judges on a reality competition who dove into food with gusto, but at the same time made eating it look easy. Controlled. How? I would have made a mess of that burger. Ketchup dribbling down my chin in hapless disaster. She was a goddamned sexy pro. “Ms. Skyler Ruiz is my teammate this year.”

“Oh yeah?” Kip asked, turning to me. “Feeling lucky?”

“Not especially,” I said blandly, my nerves bleeding into my voice. Carrie raised an eyebrow, and I laughed at her subtle correction. “I take it back. I’m feeling like we have this thing all sealed up. No question of our imminent victory. Get ready to cry, sports guy.” I looked to Carrie. She nodded. Who knew she was this competitive?

“See you out there,” Kip said, stretching his quads one last time before jogging out onto the makeshift competition field.

With the last bite of her burger popped into her mouth, Carrie dusted off her hands and grinned. They called our number. This was it. “Ready to do this?”

“I guess?”

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