“You had a psychology lecture in veterinary school?”
“No, it was an open lecture. Anyone could attend if they signed up.”
“I’m proud of you,” I said—just as a white SUV cut hard into our lane without signaling.
“Watch out!” I shouted.
Jenn slammed the brakes. Half the coffee splashed across my shirt.
“Ah! Shit!” I gasped, holding the cup away from me.
“What the hell?!” Jenn snapped, rolling down the window. “Ever heard of a turn signal, you jerk?!” she yelled after the other driver, who kept going like nothing happened.
Jenn turned to me, her face full of regret. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s not your fault.”
“What an asshole.”
“You reacted well.”
She steered into a side street, slower now. “By the way, I baked cookies,” she said. “This weekend is all about movies, partying, and not thinking about Damian Miller.”
Jenn and I pushed through the dancing crowd in the club, the music pounding against my chest. A wave of nostalgia hit me. This had been my favorite place during college, and it felt good to be back. The air was thick with shisha smoke and perfume. Everywhere I looked, people were drinking and moving, lost in the rhythm.
“There they are!” Jenn shouted, pointing to our old crew at a big corner table. We waved and laughed as we made our way over.
“Daisy! Jenn!” voices called out. I hugged my friends tightly.
“It’s so good to see you all again,” I said, taking a beer from Peter. I sat beside Jenn and let my gaze sweep over the familiar faces. It felt like no time had passed.
“So, how do you like it in Cold Spring?” Peter asked, clinking his glass with mine.
“It’s really nice.”
“Made any new friends?” Linda asked. She’d graduated with me and now worked at the Railroad Historical Center in Greenwood.
“Not really yet. I’m working a lot.”
“And where?” Peter asked.
“In an antique shop.”
“That sounds cool. Do you sell the antiques there?”
“No. I restore them. I also research their origins.”
“That’s totally your world, then.”
“Are you well paid?” Tom asked. He’d started college a few semesters after me.
“I can’t complain.”
“That’s the least they can do—pay you well,” Jenn said, after ordering from the waiter. “The guy Daisy works for is filthy rich. He even took her to Rome in his private jet.”
My friends’ eyes widened.
“That’s amazing. Seriously.” Linda leaned closer. “What’s his name?”
