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“Do you think he goes to your school?”

“He didn’t seem like he’s in high school; he had scrubs on.”

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re going to marry a doctor.” She fans her face. “We’ll be set on pizza for life.”

“Would you stop that? It was one conversation.”

“Whatever you say, doll. Better warn Knox about the vows now. I have a feeling he’s a ‘protest at the altar’ kind of guy.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. Knox always wants me to be happy.”

“Yeah, happy with him.”

“Stop that. That’s why he’s helping me right now.”

“Helping you do what?” Riley raises a brow, and I clear my throat.

“Just with this…thing. Hey, uh, do you know, possibly, if Mom was friends with a guy that played football? Number 32, I think.”

“Maybe, why?”

“I ran into some old pictures the other day randomly and it was Mom, that Cricket girl, and whoever that guy is, but I can’t see his face.”

“Do you still have the picture?”

I grab my phone in my purse and zoom in on the picture for her to see.

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “No, I don’t recognize him. I don’t think she knew either of them very well.”

“Oh.” I nod, and disappointment falls in my gut like a stone tossed into a still-water pond, sinking straight to the bottom.

“Well, I’m not super hungry anymore, so I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Thanks for the free pizza. I’ll send you out to get food from now on. All those cute boys will line up left and right to get us some lattes. Oh, or maybe donuts next time.”

“It was literally one time.”

“For now. Just wait. They’ll come.”

I force a laugh and make my way up the stairs.

It’s not until I’m in my room that it hits me: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Riley lie to me before.

Chapter Twenty Knox

I am fresh out of the shower, a white towel tied around my waist and steam billowing off my skin, when I hear my bedroom door slam open.

“Knox!” Felicity hollers, sprinting directly into my room with her phone in hand. “You’ll never guess what—oh. Oh. Sorry, I—”

“Yes?” I reach for a comb and brush it through my wet hair. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before, Paul Revere.”

“Huh?”

“I assume you have big news running in here like that, you know, the British are coming and all.”

She’s still staring—not at my face, but somewhere a few inches below. I clear my throat.

“Eyes up, ma’am.”