“I was typing out this fantasy where he arrests me and then things get hot and heavy in the back seat of his cop car, and I hit send by mistake.” I turned sideways, checking to see if my black sweater dress was too short. It was a chunky, off-the-shoulder style that didn’t cling to my curves or anything, but it did show some thigh.

“Oh my God! Why would you even type it if you weren’t going to send it?”

“For kicks. I was pretending I was going to send it. It was supposed to be a game.”

“So he texted back?”

“Yes. And then he called me.” I didn’t bother swearing her to secrecy—with us, it was understood. Turning to face her, I gestured at my burgundy suede thigh-high boots. “Too sexy for Thanksgiving?”

“Not at all. Now stop getting ready for a minute and tell me everything before he gets here!”

Laughing, I leaned back against my dresser and folded my arms. “Let’s just say he was glad I hit send and things ended up getting hot and heavy even though we weren’t in the same room.”

“Eeeek!” She bounced up and down on my bed. “You and Cole had phone sex!”

“Shhhhhh!” I glanced at my bedroom door, making sure it was shut. “Be quiet. I don’t want my mother to hear you. She’s been insufferable since I told her Cole paid for dinner last night. Apparently, that makes it a date in her book.”

“It kind of does. I mean, what else do you call it?”

“Dinner with a friend.”

“Even after the phone sex?”

“Yes. We talked about it afterward, and we agreed—just friends.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

I shrugged. “I have to be.”

Blair pouted as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t love this journey for you.”

“It’s not really a journey, Blair. It was more of a quick and dirty road trip.”

“Why’s he being so stubborn?”

“Because he doesn’t have room in his life for a relationship. His heart belongs to his daughter. He likes being single.”

“But . . . forever?”

“I didn’t push him on the timeline. But he told me he’s not interested in getting remarried and he hates the way his mother and his friends get on him about it, or act like they know what’s best for him or for his daughter. I’m not going to be like that.”

“No, but maybe you could—”

I cut her off. “Look, don’t feel bad for me. Last night was a dream come true. I spent the evening alone with him, we did the thing on the phone, and I feel closer to him than I ever have before. We talk. We understand each other. It’s enough.”

She eyeballed me the way only a bestie can. “Is it?”

I sighed. “Of course not, but at this point in my life, I’m a realist, Blair. I’m thirty, not thirteen. And there’s no point in sitting around mooning over what I can’t have. I’ve been that girl, and it’s no fun.”

From downstairs, we heard the front doorbell ring.

“He’s here!” Heart racing, I turned and checked out my reflection one last time.

Blair laughed as she rose from the foot of my bed. “You sure you’re not thirteen?”

I laughed too, pulling open my bedroom door. “When it comes to Cole, sometimes I wonder.”

My stomach felt like it was full of bouncing ping-pong balls as I made my way down the steps. Cole’s family was standing in the front hall at the base of the staircase, so first I saw his legs, then his torso, then finally, his face.

Our eyes met.

I don’t know what I expected—an awkward moment, I guess—but I was pleasantly surprised by the smile he gave me. It was warm and private, like we shared a new secret.

Which we did, of course.

The heat of his gaze and the memory of his voice in my ear rendered me motionless, and I stopped before reaching the bottom.

Blair promptly bumped into me from behind, and I heard her laugh, whispering quietly. “Just friends. Right.”

Seven

Cole

My eyes about popped out of my head as she came down the stairs.

Her hair was all tucked up into some kind of nest on the top of her head, with loose strands falling around her face. Like a ballerina fresh from a hurricane. Her shoulders were bare, and her eyes captivated mine with the secret we shared. Her full lips were colored scarlet again, and those boots—those boots should have been illegal.

I felt tongue-tied as I greeted her, and I’m pretty sure everyone noticed the way I couldn’t stop staring.

Just friends, I reminded myself as she gave me a hug and I inhaled the scent of her perfume.

Just friends, I reminded myself as I sipped bourbon and mentally undressed her in the living room over hors d’oeuvres.

Just friends, I reminded myself as Mariah excitedly showed us to our places at the table and I discovered Cheyenne would be seated right next to me.

Everyone sat down in the dining room, and Cheyenne poured wine for those who wanted it. Griffin carried the platter of turkey to the table, which was already laden with vegetables, rolls, sauces, and condiments. Mrs. Dempsey removed her apron and dimmed the overhead lights. Candles in tall holders flickered on the table.

“This looks incredible, Darlene,” said my mother from one end of the table. “Thank you so much for having us.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Dempsey said, taking her seat at the opposite end. “Thank you so much for coming. There’s nothing like a traditional holiday meal with family and friends so dear they feel like family.”

“Well said.” Griffin reached for the turkey. “Let’s eat.”

“Wait a minute. Shouldn’t we all say what we’re thankful for?” Mariah suggested.

“Sure, honey.” Darlene beamed at her. “That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s hold hands.”

Across from me, I heard Griffin grumble, but he put down the serving fork and joined hands with Blair to his right and my mom to his left. I reached for my mother’s hand on one side and Cheyenne’s on the other, a jolt of electricity flowing up my arm when I felt her palm against mine. It was her right hand. Was that the one she used to—

“You start, dear,” said Darlene to Mariah.

“Okay,” my daughter said. “I am grateful that I get to be a junior bridesmaid in Uncle Griffin and Aunt Blair’s wedding.”

“We’re grateful for that too,” said Blair, smiling across the table.

“Your turn, Miss Cheyenne,” Mariah said.

“I’m grateful for . . . good friends.” Cheyenne glanced at me, and I wondered if she was thinking about what good friends we’d become last night.

It was my turn next. I cleared my throat and frantically tried to think of something other than Cheyenne’s hand between her legs.

“I’m grateful for my job,” I blurted, even though I knew it was lame. But what could I say? The things I truly felt appreciative of right now—Cheyenne’s accidental sext, the rush of her breath in my ear as I imagined her body beneath mine, the fact that somehow this morning I’d woken up a little less lonely than I had the day before—were not things I could announce over roasted Brussels sprouts and sweet potato mash. My job would have to do.