Shit! Was it my mother? Frantically I looked around for my sunglasses. “Yeah?”

“It’s Sylvia. Can I come in?”

I relaxed. “Oh. Sure.”

She opened the door, slipped into the room and shut it behind her, leaning back against it. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

This time she didn’t even try to hide her grin. “Have fun last night?”

I nodded, leaning back against my headboard. “Yes.”

“I can tell. Either that or you got mugged, but since you came in with your purse, I’ll hazard a guess you had some really good sex.”

I laughed and touched my hair. “Pretty obvious, huh?”

“Yes. And good for you.”

“Come on in.” I gestured at the bed. “Sit.”

She ditched her flats by the door and sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed. She looked a little better this morning—more color in her face. Less tension in her brow. “So tell me about this guy. Mom said he’s the lifeguard who pulled you out of the bay that time?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Noah McCormick. We were close in high school. He joined the Army after graduation, and he’s a sheriff’s deputy now.”

A flicker of recognition crossed her face. “Was Sheriff McCormick his dad?”

“Yes.”

“He was so nice.”

“He was. They were close. His dad passed away about three years ago, and Noah took it hard.”

“I bet.”

“We don’t see each other much, although we keep in touch by text pretty regularly.” But now the thought of just text messaging him made me feel a little sick.

Sylvia took a pillow onto her lap. “So you’ve always just been friends before?”

“We’re still just friends.” I sighed. “I think. Things have shifted somewhat this week. I’m actually a little . . . confused about what we are right now.”

She gave me a look. “I’d say so. That bedhead hair and mark on your cheek definitely do not say ‘just friends.’”

I couldn’t resist. “You should see the marks on my wrists from the handcuffs.”

Her eyes went wide. “Shut up!”

Laughing, I pulled up the sleeves of my sweater and showed her. “I’m serious.”

“Oh my God!” She shook her head. “Did it hurt?”

“Not as much as the spanking.”

She buried her face in the pillow she held and screamed. Then she looked at me again, slack-jawed with shock. “I can’t believe this.”

“Why not?” Enjoying this, I leaned back against my pillows and put my hands behind my head. “You should try it sometime.”

“Have you done that before? Sex with handcuffs and . . .” Her cheeks flushed pink. “Spanking?”

“No,” I said. “But I told him the other night I like sex that isn’t always predictable and safe. He must have been paying attention.”

She looked down. “I guess so.”

“You guys should totally try it. Spice things up after all those years of sweet married sex. I bet you’d like it.” Actually, I wasn’t sure she would. Sylvia was pretty vanilla in all aspects of life, and I didn’t know anything about Brett’s sexual appetite.

“I’d settle for sweet married sex. We don’t even have that anymore.”

“No?”

She shook her head, her eyes still on the pillow in her lap. “He gets his kicks elsewhere.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “You can’t be serious.”

She shrugged, and when she looked at me, her eyes were shining. “Just because I look the other way doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

“Why would he go somewhere else when he has you? You’re gorgeous!”

Her eyes dropped again, and she shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t feel it. I feel tired and anxious and old.”

“You’re only thirty-seven!”

“I know, but I’ve had two kids, and—”

“Syl, you can’t think you’re overweight. I’ve never seen you so thin.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, looking miserable. “Yeah, turns out stressing about your husband having an affair is a great appetite killer. When I try to eat more, I’m just nauseated. And if I stop exercising, I get antsy. But I know I don’t look good.”

“Listen.” I scooted toward her and put my hand on her knee. “You do look good. You look better today than you did last night, and I bet that’s because you enjoyed a nice family meal and got a good night’s sleep.”

“I did,” she admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping well at home. I just lie there and think all these terrible thoughts. I don’t want him to leave me. I don’t want to be a single mother. I don’t want to be single, period.” Her panicked eyes met mine. “I don’t like being alone.”

My heart broke for her. “Listen, I know how you feel, at least partly. I don’t have kids to think about, but I don’t like being alone either, and Brooks just up and left me last week.”

She nodded. “I heard about that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m over it.” I pointed at my cheek. “Clearly.”

Sylvia laughed a little. “I don’t mean to unload all my baggage on you. I just wanted to hear about your fun night.”

“Unload all you want. That’s what sisters are for, right?”

Her smile was sad but genuine. “Right.”

“And when’s the last time we all got together like this? Your wedding? That was what, twelve years ago?”

“Fifteen.”

“See? This is long overdue. Family is always there for you, and coming home feels good. Believe me, I needed this reminder too. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to get out of here, but now I’m like, when’s the next time I can come back?”

She smiled. “Sure that’s not because someone handcuffed you to the bed last night?”

I laughed. “That might have something to do with it. But it was in the kitchen, not the bedroom. Later, we did it in his bed—and also on the floor.”

That got a laugh out of her. “Oh my God, you’re a maniac.”

“Possibly. But it feels so damn good with him, Sylvia. I’ve never felt so free with anyone before.”

She tilted her head. “Better be careful. Sounds like there are some feelings beyond friendship there.”

I hopped off the bed and busied myself going through my suitcase for clean clothes. “That can’t happen. We agreed at the start, this is just friendly fun and ends when I go back to DC.”

“And when is that?”

“After the wedding. Sunday.” Dropping to my knees, I rummaged through piles of underwear and jeans and tops, not seeing anything. Sunday was way too close. So close it made my throat hurt.

My sister sighed. “I don’t even know if Brett will come for the wedding.”

I looked at her over one shoulder. “Seriously? He’d blow off Frannie’s wedding?”

She shrugged. “He just keeps saying how busy he is, and what an inconvenient time this is for him to travel. But I think it’s just an excuse to avoid time with me. And I’ll be so embarrassed if he doesn’t show. What will I even do?”