She studies me now, really studies me. “Kate, why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing.”
Her lips curl. “I know that look. You got laid!”
I choke on air. “What? No!”
She raises a brow. “Kate.”
“Okay, fine, yes. I did hook up with someone,” I admit.
“With who?”
I hesitate, staring into my coffee like it might offer guidance. “The guitar man from the elevator.”
Her jaw drops. “The one who smelled like cinnamon?”
“Yes.”
She claps once, sharp and delighted. “I knew it. Itoldyou. Now tell me everything.”
Addison, being the journalist that she is, won’t let it go until she has the full scoop, so I voluntarily give her the information she so craves. After I’m done, her gasp is loud enough to echo. “Wow. Goody two-shoes Kate actually had a one-night stand.”
“Don’t call me that,” I groan, covering my face.
She practically vibrates with glee. “I can’t believe you actually slept with cinnamon guitar man. Did you at least get his name?”
“No.”
She stares at me for a long beat, then she bursts out laughing. “Wow, he gave you a dozen orgasms, and you didn’t even get his name.”
“It wasn’t a dozen—“
She raises a brow.
I sigh. “Okay, maybe close to a dozen.”
She reaches across the table and starts fixing my hair, smoothing flyaways, tugging gently at my bun. “God, I love this for you.”
“I don’t,” I mutter. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Her hands still, and she looks at me more seriously now. “That’s different.”
“I know.”
She resumes fussing with me, pulling out a compact from her bag and dabbing concealer under my eyes. “Hold still. You look like you cried.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did something.”
I don’t answer.
She softens again, finishing my makeup with quick, practiced movements. “Okay. There. Presentable.”
I meet my reflection in the small mirror she hands me and barely recognize the woman looking back. Less wrecked, still tired, but… alive.
“Thank you.”
