Naomi grinned. “You look illegal.”
“I look like someone who returned every item he ever gave her,” Isabel replied, opening the menu.
Bea stared. “It’s barely been a couple of months, Iz.”
“Week nine is for remembering who I am.”
Naomi cackled. Lillian sipped carefully through her straw.
“I’m ordering us martinis,” Isabel declared, scanning the list. “Two olives, or three?”
Bea laughed, startled. “This is wild.”
Naomi was already signaling for the server.
They ordered too many sides and nothing with nutritional value.
Lillian talked shyly about Adam. Yes, they were official; no, she hadn’t slept with him yet.
“It’s not a no. It’s justnot yet.” Lillian blushed.
“Power move, honestly. Make him earn it,” Georgie said, nibbling on her olive.
“If he survives the wait, he deserves the win,” Bea said with a small smile.
“This coming from the woman who made Gage King wait four months after making it official,” Isabel said dryly.
“Hey, I made himrice ballsfirst. That’s practically second base in my culture.”
They moved on to Naomi’s wedding planning. She’d narrowed her wedding dress options down to ‘only eleven.’ That was after eliminating anything that didn’t look good from a drone.
“The aerial view is part of the narrative,” Naomi said with deadly sincerity.
Bea kept sneaking glances at Isabel during that part. The lashes. The calm. The edge. There was something surgical about her tonight.
“Are you okay?” she asked finally, low enough only Isabel could hear.
Isabel turned to her. “Not quite. But I will be. And until then, I’m dressing like I already am.”
The waiter arrived with another round of drinks.
Isabel’s eyes scanned the lounge. “Tonight I want to be admired by someone I’m not going to marry.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Lillian said, tilting her head toward the group of men across from them.
Isabel raised her glass. “To being nobody’s almost.”
Georgina followed. “To the look on his face when he realizes.”
Naomi lifted hers. “To abundant choices.”
Lillian smiled softly. “To new beginnings.”
Bea raised hers last. “To getting your story back.”
She’d written theUR Countdown Coffee Listmonths ago, thinking she was clever.
Back when this was still supposed to be a graceful goodbye. One last loop of the city, sampling all the wackiest brews, before she packed up her life and followed the man she loved across the world.
