Page 9 of Our Bay Will Come

Me: That sounds unsafe. Please don't die because you were sexting me.

Fox: Worth it.

"Whoever's making you smile like that must be something special."

I jump, nearly dropping my phone as Rory materializes beside my desk. She's wearing her designer glasses today, the ones that make her look like an intimidating gallery curator instead of the sweet, slightly chaotic person I know her to be.

"Jesus, Rory. Wear a bell."

She perches on the edge of my desk, completely unapologetic. "So? Who is he? Or she? Or they?"

"Nobody," I say automatically, sliding my phone face-down onto my desk calendar. "Just my sister sending me dog photos."

Rory's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches in disbelief. "Cilla's dogs make you blush like that? Interesting."

"I'm not blushing," I protest, even as the heat intensifies in my cheeks. "It's hot in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, exactly like it always is." She leans forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Comeon, Prue. You've been floating around the office all week with this dreamy look on your face. Something happened in Cedar Bay."

"Nothing happened in Cedar Bay," I lie, shuffling some papers on my desk to look busy. "I visited my sister, helped her settle in, met her new boyfriend, came home. End of story."

Bzzzzz

My phone vibrates again, and Rory's eyes light up like Christmas morning.

"That's your sister again, I suppose?"

I snatch the phone away before she can see the screen. "Don't you have the Hendersons' living room to finish?"

"Already done." She crosses her arms, settling in more comfortably on my desk. "I'm not leaving until you spill. Who. Is. He?"

I sigh, knowing Rory well enough to recognize when she's dug in her heels. She once spent three hours arguing over the exact shade of teal for a client's kitchen backsplash in a supplier's warehouse. The woman is relentless.

"Fine. His name is Fox."

"Fox?" She blinks. "Like, that's his actual name?"

"Yes, and before you say anything, I've already made all the jokes."

"I doubt that." She grins. "So, Fox, what?"

"Carmichael. He's a friend of Rowan's—that's Cilla's boyfriend."

"And?"

"And what?"

She rolls her eyes. "And did you sleep with him? Because that's the vibe I'm getting from your very distracted state and how you're clutching your phone like it contains nuclear launch codes."

I hesitate, weighing my options. Rory is my best friend and business partner. We've been through everything together, from the early days of our fledgling design firm to heartbreaks and family drama. If I can't tell her, who can I tell?

"Yes," I admit finally. "I slept with Fox. It was supposed to be a one-night thing, but then morning happened, and kitchen counters happened."

Her eyes widen. "Kitchen counters? Prudence Griffin, you wild thing! I thought you swore off men after The Dickhead Who Shall Not Be Named."

"I did. I have." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. "This was just a momentary lapse in judgment."

"A sexy lapse," she points out.

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