My skin goes cold, panic rising in my chest. “Not offered, I just wanted to see if it could be an option—”

“But obviously it had to go up enough channels internally for Salvatore to call you personally and give his approval. And all this happened without even talking to me.” He reaches down, buttoning his pants. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding here.”

“Finn, I—”

He lets out a short, pissed-off laugh. “Do they even know how much it will cost to fix these boats?”

“Well, they’ll first fix the Linda to use, but then at least it’s a leg up for you, right? I mean, it’s a few hundred thousand dollars or more that you can use to get back on your feet.”

“You’ve already discussed which boats? And money?” Finn’s eyes are so wide it makes me see for the first time how green they can be. “Harlow, you’ve never seen my fucking boats. Are you even serious right now?”

This whole conversation feels like whiplash. I can still feel the warmth and shape of him in my mouth. My hands are shaking, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “Finn, there’s only been a couple of conversations so far. They know you need to fix your boats.” His face turns red, his jaw tightens, and I hasten to add, “They’re really excited to work with you on this.”

“A shit ton of decisions can be made in a couple small conversations. Are they counting on this?”

I feel my stomach drop out. “I think they’re ready to move forward on their end, yeah.”

His expression grows thunderous. “Why couldn’t you have talked to me before you ever approached Salvatore?” he asks, turning and pacing the room. “Why did you think it was a good idea to meddle in this? This is my business, Harlow, this is my life. My family. How do you even know if this could work for us? You’re here shuffling papers and getting donuts for NBC executives downtown while I’m trying to save an entire business my grandpa started when he was eighteen, for fuck’s sake. My dad and brothers and I depend on this! I don’t even know what you told these guys!”

“I can tell you everything,” I say, following him and putting a hand on his arm. “When I talked to Salvatore at his place—”

“Aw fuck, Snap,” he interrupts, not hearing me and starting to pace again. He pulls his hat off, rubs both hands over his scalp and down his face. “This is a fucking mess.”

This whole conversation has me feeling unsteady on my feet, struggling to figure out what to say to make it all clear that it’s a good thing. “This is money that allows you to fix your main boat,” I remind him, trying to keep my voice steady. “And to use it exactly as you’ve been using it before it broke. You wouldn’t have to do the reality show to keep your boats. This would allow your business to stay solvent, to work with your brothers and get in front of—”

“Do you have any idea how naïve you sound right now?”

I gape at him. I can actually feel my pulse in my neck, that’s how hard my heart is pounding. “You know what? Why don’t you call me later and we can talk about this. You’re being an epic asshole.”

He turns to look at me, flabbergasted. “I’m being an—?” Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and then exhales, opening his eyes again. “Yeah, it’s probably best if you go.”

MIA PULLS THE third mug of coffee out of my shaking hands. “I don’t think you need any more caffeine, sweetie.”

She’s taken precious time away from Ansel to come see me in my crisis mode. I drop my head onto my arms on the table, groaning. “Am I a jerk? Is he a jerk?”

Lola picks at her blueberry muffin. “Both, I think.”

“Can someone please explain the male brain to me? First he was mad about Mom, then I was about to give him the head of his lifetime, and then I’m trying to save his business, and then he goes and throws a huge mantrum.” I feel the threat of tears returning. “What the hell just happened?”

“Well,” Lola begins, “you basically aired all his dirty laundry to a potential business partner for him and offered something you aren’t sure he can deliver.”

I groan. “God, when you put it like that I sound like an idiot.”

Lola makes the Well? face and winces sympathetically.

“This thing with Salvatore could be amazing, Lola. Yes it was risky but it could work out if he only stopped with the caveman chest thumping and thought about it!” Looking at each of them in turn, I say, “By the way? You can’t tell Oliver or Ansel any of this. Finn hasn’t told them yet.”

Lola nods immediately but Mia squirms a little in her seat. Finally she says, “Okay. But I really hope he tells them soon because secrets with me and Ansel? Historically not a good thing.”

“I know, Sugarcube, and I’m sorry I put you in this position.” I lean across the table to put my hand on her arm. “But lest we forget, it was your chatty husband who spilled the cancer details to Finn before I had a chance to, so you guys kind of owe me.”

“I’ll only put out once tonight to punish him,” she jokes.

I laugh. “Troll.”

“Seriously, though. Ansel is half Adonis, half puppy. You want me to be mad at him for worrying about you and forgetting he wasn’t supposed to talk about your mom?” Her mildly raised eyebrow tells me she knows the answer.

I drop my head back onto my arms again. “No. He’s adorable and sweet and I’m an idiot for meddling in someone else’s business, per usual.” Sighing, I say, “Usually it works out so well.”

“What I don’t fully understand is, what was going on with you two?” Mia asks. “I thought you were just sleeping together, and then you weren’t, and now it’s got you like this? I hate to point out the obvious, Harlow, but you’ve never called an emergency conference over a boy before.”

Lola nods. “I was pretty sure you were the first woman in history to make it to twenty-two without a guy crisis.”

“We said the I love you’s last night,” I admit in a whisper.

“What?” they yell in unison. A few café customers nearby turn to stare at us.

“God, take it down a notch, psychos,” I say, laughing in spite of myself. They’re enjoying this way too much. “At first he was this fun distraction from what was going on with Mom and my complete lack of a good job and all those quarter-life crisis things no self-respecting person over thirty has any sympathy for.”

I pick up a paper napkin and start tearing it into little strips. “Then I started thinking about Finn more than I was thinking about anything else, and he had this boat thing going on—though I didn’t know the details until later—so we sort of agreed to cool it.”

“And?” Mia asks.

“And . . . then I was having fun trying to figure out how to fix his problem, and we were spending a lot of time together because you assholes were busy with work or husbands or totally oblivious to the men who are blatantly in love with you.”

“Wait. What?” Lola asks.

Ignoring her, I continue quietly: “Finn is sweet, and funny and stoic in this way that is totally foreign to me but I actually really appreciate, coming from the Family That Discusses Everything. And he’s hot. Dear Lord, you guys. Finn in bed is no joke. And he’s not a whiny La Jolla mama’s boy, he’s a man who was raised to get shit done, and not cry over hangnails. Finn could break your vagina and be just handy enough to put it back together.” I pick at the sleeve of my sweater, dropping my voice even more. “He looks at me like he adores me, but then he’ll make fun of me—which I like, turns out—and he started to feel like my guy, you know?” I don’t even care that I’m babbling now; I’m just letting it all out. “He looks at me like we have this little secret, and we do. My secret is that I fucking love him. And he was a jerk today.”

Mia puts her hand on my arm and slides it down, weaving her fingers with mine. “Harlow?”

I look up at her. Mia and Ansel have been married since June, but only a little over two months ago they had a huge fight, something so huge and hurtful between them that I could see on her face she was worried she might have lost the thing she wanted more than anything in the world—even more than to erase the accident that shattered her dream of dancing for a living: her marriage.

So I know what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth.

“You just have to go fix it,” she says simply. “He’s mad, you’re hurt. But as clichéd as it sounds, none of that really matters in the long run. Just go talk to him.”

I LIFT THE R2-D2 knocker and drop it down against Oliver’s front door, but my stomach is already gone, dissolved away from my body and leaving in its place a hollow, aching pit. Finn’s truck isn’t at the curb.

Oliver answers the door shirtless, in lounge pants that hang way too low and expose way too much muscular hip for a guy I’d like to firmly and forever keep in the friend zone. He’s clearly just got out of the shower; his hair is wet and messy, his glasses a little foggy. Even with the panic rising in my throat, I can still take a second to appreciate how cute he would be with Lola if he would just man up and ask her out for real.

“Expecting a booty call?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his face.

He takes an enormous bite of apple and chews it with a wry grin on his face. Finally swallowing, he says, “I think we both know I’m not.” He lifts the apple to his mouth and says behind it, “Just dressed as if I’m hanging out in my house alone, as you do.”

“Alone,” I repeat. “Because Finn is gone?”

“Left ’bout an hour ago.”

“Left as in . . .”

Oliver points north. “Canada.” His Aussie accent turns the word into kin-ih-duh and even though, logically, I know what he’s said, it still takes my stubborn brain a second to let the confirmation sink in that Finn left town without saying goodbye to me.

He left town, and didn’t kiss me goodbye, or wait to make sure I’m not knocked up with his spontaneous car-sex love child, or even come find me. What a dick.

I’m suddenly so angry I want to take Oliver’s fucking apple and throw it at the wall. “I told him I loved him last night,” I tell Oliver, as if it’s his business. As if he needs to know. But it feels so fucking good to explain the storm pounding in my veins, the hurt and fire making me want to scream. I want confirmation that Finn is as epic a dick as he seems to me right now. “The best part? He said it first. And now he’s fucking left without saying goodbye?”

If any of this surprises Oliver, he hides it remarkably well. This is his superpower, I think. The comic geek always has one, and Oliver’s is a poker face that would leave even the Holy Trinity guessing what he’s thinking. Too bad Lola’s superpower is never needing to dig for information that hasn’t been offered. They’re going to Remains of the Day this thing until the end of time.

“You want to come in?” he asks.

I shake my head, hugging my arms around my shoulders. It’s almost seventy degrees out but I’m freezing. Is this what heartbreak feels like? Like a hot skewer in my chest and I’m too cold and can’t take a deep breath and want to cry all over Oliver’s awkwardly naked shoulder?

Heartbroken sucks. I want to kick it in the nuts.

“Look, Harlow,” he starts, before pulling me in for a hug. “Aw, pet, you’re shaking.”

“I’m freaking out,” I admit, leaning into him. How could Finn just leave town? “Oliver . . . what the fuck?”

He pulls back and looks down at me. Way down at me. Holy shit Oliver is tall. “I’ve known Finn for a long time,” he says slowly. “It takes a lot to get him upset, and even more before he shows it.” He winces a little and then says, “I can tell you’re upset, too, but he basically grunted out a few words, said we’d talk soon, and then walked out to his truck. I dunno what’s going on with him, or why he left or . . . anything, really, that might help you feel better. You sure you don’t want to come in?”

I shake my head again. “He didn’t tell you what happened?”

Oliver laughs a little. “Finn rarely tells us much of anything. He usually tells us things after he’s got them all figured out. If there’s something going on with him, and he confided in you, then he wasn’t lying when he said it first.”

“Said what—oh,” I say. He’s talking about the I love you. Ugh. Punch to the gut.

He bends, catching my eyes. “Call him, yeah?”

Chapter FOURTEEN

Finn

I DID A LOT of things in San Diego that weren’t stereotypical Finn Roberts: sleeping in, watching TV, buying Starbucks coffee, not working a steady fifteen hours a day. But this—driving away as the sun sets over the water—is the first familiar feeling I’ve had in a long time.

Oliver came home while I was packing and watched me warily from the doorway. “You want some coffee for the road?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Things had been the slightest bit tense between us, and I knew there were probably a hundred questions Oliver would ask if given the chance. In turn, he knew there were about a hundred reasons why I wouldn’t answer any of them, and so once my bag was closed, we walked to the kitchen, stood over the Keurig in silence, both of us watching the final drip drip drip of coffee into the cup below.

“You can’t have this one,” he said, turning away from me to spoon in more sugar than any human should probably consume in one sitting.