By the middle of the afternoon, the defiant attitude Riley had managed to muster up in front of Gareth had been watered down by the three vodka sours she had downed at the nearest bar she could find. By the time she returned to her building, she was drunk, or, at least, tipsy. It didn't help that she was angry, too, which usually made the buzz worse. It certainly didn't make it any better. It was preferable to have no buzz at all, or the very least stay sober.

She said all this in one breath to Frank, her doorman, the moment she walked into the lobby of her building. An enormous bouquet of roses, sunflowers and chrysanthemums sat on his counter, and she wondered out loud if anyone had died.

"No one died," Frank replied. "They're for you. Mr. Hunter had them delivered to you this morning."

"Oh," Riley said, wishing she wasn't as drunk as she felt.

"I didn't want to leave it by your door in case Miss Tipper's poodle might mistake it for a bush."

"Well, it's not a bush," Riley said. "It's a bouquet of flowers, damn it."

She tried to lift it, but it was quite a large vase, and it felt slippery in her hands.

"Let me help take the flowers up to your apartment, Miss Eames," Frank said, frowning, as he gently pried the vase from her hands.

"I'm not drunk," Riley said, wagging her finger at Frank. "I'm just annoyed. I should have had more attitude today. I wonder where I can get more of that. Do you know?"

"Unfortunately, no," Frank said as they stepped into the elevator. He hit the button for the fifth floor, staring straight ahead and saying nothing.

"I'm mad because just when I thought I'd found the right guy, this time, he turns out to be in mourning or something, and not only that, but he's got a kid. A kid! I mean, I have nothing against men in mourning and kids, but you'd think that he'd have told me that little detail, you know? And to make things worse, my ex-boyfriend is in town and, while everyone just loves him—did I say everyone loves him?" Frank nodded, a forlorn look on his face. "Well, I hate him! And wouldn't you know it? He fucking kissed me not once, but twice out there on the street! To make it worse, some paparazzi guy took a picture of us!"

Riley sighed, leaning her head too far forward and accidentally hitting the control panel with her forehead. Her vision swam for a moment, and she stayed where she was, leaving her forehead pressed against the button that was now beeping continuously before Frank gingerly peeled her from it. She wouldn't be surprised if the button left a mark on her forehead.

"Ow!" she groaned. "What floor did I just hit?"

"Twelve, though it says twenty-one on your forehead. Still, I'm afraid you need to lie down, Miss Eames," Frank said, as the elevator stopped on the fifth floor and the doors slid open. "I'm sure this man in mourning—with the kid—is a nice man, and maybe he thought it was too soon to tell you."

"So you're defending him now?"

"No," Frank said, walking alongside her toward her door.

"Well, I hate his guts," Riley declared.

"Whose guts?" Frank asked. "The father in mourning? How could you hate his guts?"

"No, my ex-boyfriend. I hate his guts," Riley said, fumbling for her keys. "And you know what, Frank?"

He shook his head.

"When he kissed me, there was nothing there. I thought that after three years of thinking about him and wondering why he left me, there'd be something—a spark or something, stars, fireworks, but there was nothing. I got more from the man in mourning with the kid," Riley said. She sighed as the key finally slipped into the lock and she turned it. "How long is the mourning period in England, do you know?"

"They say that time heals all wounds," Frank said, setting the vase of flowers on top of her kitchen counter.

"Whatever. At least, I didn't say anything embarrassing like 'Take me back, please, I love you, Gareth.' I mean, that's a step forward, right? At least, I didn't make a fool of myself more than I did by letting him kiss me."

Frank shrugged. "Well, you said the kiss didn't feel right. You can always tell with the kiss."

"Tell what?"

"That they're the one." Frank gave her a sheepish smile. "That's how I knew I'd met the right woman when I met my Miss Maisey. When we kissed, I just knew it was real. I think she did, too, but then, that's just me, Miss Eames. I'm romantic, I guess."

"There aren't that many left of you, Frank, just letting you know," Riley said. "The Romantics are a dying breed. Either that, or they're all in England somewhere, back in time, or in the movies, or worse, just made up for gullible women like me."

"They're around," Frank said. He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Mr. Hunter also left this for you."

Riley thanked him, saw him out and locked her door. She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. As she read Ashe's note, she felt her chest tighten at the sight of his handwriting.

Dearest Riley,

I have to be in LA for a few days for contract negotiations and won't be able to see you today. I had a wonderful time with you last night and would love to see you again soon. I never got your number, so I'm going to give you mine. Please call me so I can hear your lovely voice and infectious laugh again.

Yours, Ashe

She couldn't stop herself from grinning. After the day she'd had, she needed to smile, and Ashe had just made it possible. There was something about him that was so peaceful and down-to-earth, yet so magnetic. She wondered if it had to do with his having grown up on a farm, speaking the way he did in that Yorkshire accent. Maybe it was the way he looked at her and not down at her boobs every time they talked, or maybe the way he kissed her, making her tingle all the way from her head to her toes.

I'm lovesick, she thought. I really am. But I'm also drunk. A lovesick drunk.

Then the memory returned—of Gareth kissing her, and the imaginary sound of the camera shutter for she'd been too far to hear it. It made Riley cringe, and she groaned. She hoped that the reporter hadn't gotten a clear shot of her face. Perhaps all he'd wanted was a good picture of Gareth. Wasn't that what the tabloids wanted? A clear shot of the face, while the rest ended up in some folder somewhere?

Then it hit her. If any of the pictures showed up online, wouldn't Ashe see them, too? How long had that man been photographing them? Had he caught the beginning of the kiss, when she'd pulled away? At least, it should be obvious that she hadn't initiated it. But, then, would it matter?

And Gareth had kissed her twice.

Riley felt sick to her stomach. Paige and Clint's disappointment she could handle, but Ashe?

She slipped Ashe's note back into its envelope and leaned back against the couch, stroking the back of Miss Bailey's head as the cat snuggled next to her. There was not much Riley could do now except torture herself with worry, so she took a deep breath and tried her best to relax. Maybe it would take Paige another day to realize what had happened between her and Gareth, though, in the end, it didn't matter. Paige would find out, and once she did, Riley was sure she'd never hear the end of it from Paige.

And why not? Paige was only watching out for her baby sister. And sisters, she told Riley, always stuck together.

Sisters before misters.

* * *

The pictures hit the rumor mill in less than three hours, even before Riley woke up at six that evening with a raging headache. Maybe the pictures had gone up even before then but, as far as Riley was concerned, shit hit the fan much earlier, when her phone wouldn't stop ringing till she finally picked it up.

"When I told you to lay off Ashe, I didn't mean for you to run straight into Gareth!" Paige's voice screamed from her phone that Miss Bailey leaped from Riley's lap and scurried off to find a calmer location.

"Thank God you wore that pink top I gave you last year. It made your skin tone look, well, healthier, and those jeans didn't make you look fat at all."

"Is that all you're worried about, my skin tone and whether my butt looked big?" asked Riley, brushing the cat hair from her thigh and sitting up slowly.

"Clint says it's not obvious it's you, but I know you, Ri, so there's no fooling me," Paige continued. "Anyway, what the hell happened to, 'No way would I ever talk to him, even if he went down on his bended knee?'"

"He showed up at the Library," Riley replied. "What was I supposed to do, kick him out of there? He milked it. I wouldn't be surprised if people weren't filming him even then."

"They were," Paige said. Her words slowed as if she was reading something, ever the multitasker. "The clips are all over online, and now everyone wants to know where the Library Cafe is, and something about a Nutella espresso. So technically it's not exactly a bad thing if it means it brings more people to the Library. You guys could always use the business. Still, what the hell was he doing there?"

"I told you, he just showed up," Riley said. "It's not like I invited him to come over. He always knew I worked there."

"Still, it's the damn kiss that gets me, Ri," Paige said. "I thought you liked Ashe. What the hell is he going to think of you now?"

Riley sighed. "Is that all you're worried about, what people will think of me now? How about asking me how I feel?"

"Okay," Paige said, exhaling. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Riley said. "I had three vodka sours, but that didn't help make me feel any better."

"You know what, I don't want the boys to see me getting all worked up," Paige said. "I'm coming over so we can talk about this more and figure out a plan of action."

"What plan of action? I just told you I'm—"

But Paige had already hung up. Twenty minutes later, she was knocking on the door, carrying a pie in one hand. Even at such short notice, she still looked glamorous in a suede jacket over a dark blouse, jeans, and knee-high boots. It wasn't hard to guess that Paige had once been a fashion model though she never got to make it as big as the likes of Giselle because Clint snapped her up before the industry could. But Riley knew Paige couldn't care less about her modeling days. She was a brand now, and followers snatched up whatever she recommended through her website and all her social media accounts. She had her line of clothing in the works, for crying out loud.

"What's the pie for?" Riley asked, shutting the door behind her.

"I'm stressed," Paige said. "Aren't you? It's the perfect time for pie, so on the way here, I stopped by the bakery and picked one up. Pecan, your favorite."

She set down the pie on the counter and grabbed Riley in her arms, enclosing her in a long hug. It was the third time Riley had been in someone's arms in the last twenty-four hours, and she hoped this would be the last person in line. From Ashe's sandalwood and vetiver notes to Gareth's woody cologne and now Paige's usual Chanel No. 5, Riley almost felt sick from the overstimulation of her frontal cortex—or was it somewhere else in her brain that seemed to unlock itself with every new scent her nose encountered?

Riley extricated herself from Paige's arms and headed for the kitchen, determined to make a pot of coffee to cleanse her palate before realizing that there were two cups of coffee on the coffee table from the night before, and Paige had just sat herself down in front of them. She rushed toward the living room and snatched the cups away, but it was too late.

"So which one of the two was here?" Paige asked pointedly.

Riley hesitated, but Paige held up her hand.

"You might as well tell me the truth, Riley," Paige said, heaving a sigh. "I've decided that you're a big girl now, and while I still worry about you like your big sis, I can't stop you from doing whatever it is you want to do—well, short of harming yourself—but I can be here for you."

"You sound like you had to memorize that," Riley observed, preparing the coffee. Paige got up and stood on the other side of the counter, slicing the pie into equal segments.

"I did," Paige said. "Clint made me. He said you're old enough to make your own decisions, and he does have a point. You're twenty-three years old and, though you'll always be my baby sister, you can take care of yourself. I mean, look at this place. When we first saw it, the walls were so awful—all that smoke—and it was such a mess that it was a bargain. But look what did to the place since then! You fixed it up yourself. You can't imagine how proud I am to see you buy this place on your own after you almost over—"

"You guys helped me with the down payment, remember? And Clint is a member of the board. I mean, Paige, he owns half of Manhattan as it is," Riley said quickly. "Still, I hope Clint didn't make you say all that either."

"Of course not. That part's all me. But let's not change the subject," Paige said. "So who was here?"

"It was Ashe," Riley replied. "But he left by the time you called me last night. He just stopped by for coffee."

"And I see that he sent you flowers again," Paige said, her left eyebrow arching. "He must really like you."

Riley pretended not to hear her as she took down two plates for their pie and some whipped cream from the refrigerator for topping. If Paige wanted to be sinful because she was stressed, she'd help her go all the way.

"What's the deal with Gareth, then? Why are you suddenly sucking face with the ex, when there's someone much better on the horizon who's sending you flowers and subjecting himself to triplets who aren't even related to him?"

Riley sighed, debating whether or not to tell Paige. She decided she needed to tell somebody, and it might as well be Paige. "Gareth says he still loves me."

"Oh, please, spare me the details about Gareth and his lies. I hope to God you didn't buy that line and let your guard down," Paige said. "Or is that why your kiss is plastered all over the internet?"

"But I didn't let my guard down," Riley protested. "He came over because he wanted to talk and—"

"He kissed you! And if that isn't called letting your guard down, then I don't know what is," Paige said, exhaling. "You know what? I'm sick of these actors who think they can have anyone they want whenever they want. I've got a solution, Ri. It's time to forget Gareth."

"That's possible."

"And Ashe for that matter," Paige added. "After all, those two were tight during the filming of Sentience. Betty told me—"

"What? I can't do that."

"Honestly, Ri, if Ashe sees the pictures of you kissing Gareth—and I don't even care who kissed who first, I'd rather you weren't there for the letdown from Ashe," Paige said. "You know what I'm talking about—when he stops sending you flowers or calling you or showing up at the cafe. How would you feel when he does all that, huh? It's time to forget them both and move on. And guess what? Clint and I have the perfect solution."

"And what is that?" Riley asked slowly.

"Jesse, Clint's assistant, the guy I told you about last night. He's a great guy. Smiles a lot but it could just be a nervous tic or something," Paige said. "Anyway, there's a charity ball at the museum next week, and you're invited. And no, I won't take 'no' for an answer."

"But I have nothing to wear to some formal gala, Paige."

"So? I've got tons of dresses," Paige laughed, before her turning serious. "And speaking of dresses, don't take another bite of that pie!"

She grabbed both plates and emptied what was left into the trash before Riley could stop her.

"What did you do that for?" Riley protested. "That was perfectly good pie!"

"I know, but you'll have to fit into my dress, Ri, which means you're gonna have to be a size smaller by next week," Paige said, opening the fridge and rummaging around before taking out a day-old vegetable platter, and pushing it across the counter toward Riley.

"But—"

"Did you know that carrots go well with coffee?" Paige asked, handing her a carrot stick. "You should try it."