Page 28 of Touch Me

I meet up with Moira after the meeting, and she laughs andcheers as I tell her about my studio win. “Fuck Bryan Raine,” she says, whichsums up my sentiments exactly.

She insists that we start looking at baby furniture, andsince Moira’s already a perfect sister-in-law and will undoubtedly be anincredible aunt, I agree. I expect it to be surreal, like we’re choosingfurniture for a giant doll house. Or perhaps a model home. “And this, ohyoung and eager couple, would make a delightful nursery.”

Except it’s not like that at all. It feels strangely real,and I can even picture it in the smallest bedroom. The one that’s filled withjunk. We’d have to move out the boxes, of course, and paint the walls. Maybe asunny yellow. Yeah, it would work. I can see the furniture in there.

The furniture. But I don’t see a baby.

Part of me, though, really wants to.

I shake the image out of my head and drag her out of thestore. We’re in the car heading home and talking about nothing in particularwhen I get a text from Gabby Anderson saying that she’s in town and wants tosee me and Nikki.

“Who’s that?” Moira asks, after my phone reads the messagealoud.

“Remember the crazy story I told you after Ryan and I gotback from London?”

“About his first wife—bastard never even told me—and thewhole switched identities thing?”

“And the millions of dollars at stake, and the peoplegetting killed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Story of my brother’s life.”

I have to grin. She isn’t wrong. “At any rate, Gabby’s theone who was smack in the middle of it.”

“Oh, wow. Tell her to come to dinner.”

Since that sounds good to me, I dictate a text back, tellingher that Nikki’s in Palm Springs for a few days with Damien, but that sheshould absolutely come hang at the house tonight with me, Ryan, and Moira.

About fifteen seconds later, she sends back a thumbs up anda confetti emoji.

I’m not exactly the hostess type, so my plan for dinner isto have Ryan pick up takeout. I call him next and suggest Italian.

“But since you’re doing the schlepping, get whatever youwant.”

“Is Italian a craving or a suggestion?”

“Just a suggestion.”

“Then I might—”

“Oh, wait!”

He chuckles. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t a craving, but now it kind of is. Pasta. Capresesalad. And, oh, that really light, crusty bread.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“And there will be four of us. Gabby’s in town.”

“That’s great,” he says, and though the enthusiasm in hisvoice is real, I can’t help but wonder if seeing Gabby will just be a reminderof that old mission of his that started it all. A mission he considers hisbiggest failure.

By the time we’re back at the house, I’ve dispelled thenotion. Ryan spent a lot of time with Gabby in London. And, frankly, I don’tsee how Gabby could bring anyone’s spirits down. I’ve known her since college,when she used to hang with Nikki and me. She’s one of the nicest people I know,and she didn’t deserve all the shit that went down.

Ryan’s home and dinner’s staying warm in the oven by thetime Gabby arrives, and the first thing she does when she crosses the thresholdis put a box of printer paper in my arms. “What’s this?”

“My life,” Gabby says, her wide eyes twinkling. “Ouradventure. The whole thing.”

“You wrote a book?”