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“Do I need to point out the hypocrisy?”

“Nope, the nausea is doing a great job on its own.”

Admittedly, he did look a little greenish. And Molly had no desire to hang around her stale apartment all day if the bookstore was going to be closed. So, as much as he deserved a good cold-shouldering, reluctantly, she let Eli drag her away anyway.

Molly supposed there were worse ways to spend a random day in late September than in the company of cushy chairs, books, and the library at Eli’s house. Her agitation still simmered, but it had softened some.

“Oh no, not the face again. Have I still not apologized sufficiently?” Eli asked, clearly having noticed Molly’s gaze fixed out the window beside her. She hadn’t turned a page in her book in the last five minutes.

“I’ll let you know sometime next year.”

Silence lulled, and Eli began fidgeting, seemingly incapable of stillness. His leg bounced at a truly impressive rate. Whatever was on his mind, Molly refused to prompt him. Her annoyance demanded reparations.

“So, here’s the thing,” he eventually said. “Justine is finally back from Canada.”

“And you feel the need to warn me about that?”

“Remember how I said everything got a little messy? Well, Aster told us to give you space, obviously. And then I begged him to let us be the ones to share the bookstore with you—which, yes, I jumped the gun on anyway. I am who I am.” Eli paused, considering. He did a poor job concealing the flash of worry that darted across his face. “I promise I wasn’t trying to go around Justine’s back, or tell you anything about the store other than letting you see it. But you’ve made a very good point about my hypocrisy. I thought everyone else needed to share more with you while omitting things myself.”

“I think they call that cognitive dissonance.”

“Self-awareness isn’t my strongest skill.”

Molly snorted a laugh despite herself.

“I’m sorry, again. Perpetually, even,” he said. “I really was trying to help Aster. And I missed you. And, honestly, I think Justine is furious Aster didn’t kill me. Because if she’d known—well. She was so upset that she fucked off to Canada to work remotely from a spa. I might have to fund a French language sister store in Quebec to make it up to her.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly said, words slow.

Eli cleared his throat. “What I’m saying is that Justine really got the short end of the stick here. And I owed her. And—”

“What did you do?”

In a gust, Eli said, “I gave her my key to your apartment and promised to keep you busy for a while. No idea what she’s up to, if that makes it better.” A pause. “Or maybe worse?”

“Eli.” He shivered. Molly stood abruptly. “You are going to drive me back home right now, and then you are going to thank me for not throttling you.”

“You’ve always been such a kind—”

“Now, Eli.”

Justine Dawson sat at Molly’s kitchen table. Pawntès had taken up residence in a seat of his own, staring at her unblinkingly.

Neither looked at Molly when she entered the apartment after leaving Eli without so much as a goodbye. He was on friendship probation for at least five business days. Business days she could count at the literal business she owned with him, apparently.

And with the woman in front of her.

After a moment, Justine frowned, finally meeting Molly’s gaze. Her expression was one of either anger or sadness. And Molly couldn’t decide which; they both shared a furrowed brow, pursed lips, and clenched jaw. Something folded and tied with a gold ribbon sat on the table between Justine and Pawntès.

Molly didn’t know what to say. Or how to react. She didn’t have any context for what her relationship with Justine looked like, aside from the fact that they apparently ran a business together. Nor did she have any idea what she’d just walked in on.

With a deep breath, Justine stood and approached. She crossed her arms, motion caught between standoffishness and self-comfort.

“So, you don’t remember me at all?” Her voice was unexpectedly gentle.

“I remember you. But nothing from the last six years.”

Justine visibly flinched. Her arms fell. Molly had never imagined the act of uncrossing one’s arms as particularly upsetting, but she supposed she’d never seen Justine do it before either.