Gareth hadn't lied about the letters. He'd sent them to the old address, and they were all returned to him, their envelopes stamped many times between its origin and final destination, which had been Gareth's postal box in L.A. It was so like him to write down his L.A. address, Riley thought, even though the letters were all postmarked in Hertfordshire, England. And now they were all in front of her, all unopened, sent in a span of six months after she visited him.

Riley started crying after reading the first letter, and she kept crying till she finished reading all of them, each one saying how much Gareth missed her and how sorry he was for what had happened at the producer's house. And along with details of how filming was going on, everything so new to him, each letter asked her why she hadn't answered him.

Afterward, Riley wondered what would have happened had she received them, had she not allowed herself to bundled out of the apartment so unceremoniously by those assistants that Gareth now claimed weren't his. Sure, they may have been at that producer's party, but he hadn't sent them.

And then there was the money, all twenty grand of it.

Though it was late, Riley found herself searching through the old boxes in her closet, trying to find the bag that had contained the money. It had been a vintage designer bag — a Louis Vuitton. She'd almost even sold it and would have made close to $200 on some consignment website, but what would have been the point in that?

She kept it to remind herself that she'd almost died from an overdose because of what had been inside that damn bag. She'd allowed herself to be defined by that stack of hundred-dollar bills. Then she remembered Gareth's face when he'd assured her that he would never do such a thing. Never, he had stressed with horror on his face.

But if it wasn't Gareth, then whose idea of a sick joke had it been to move her out of her apartment, leaving only a mattress on the floor and a bag of money? Not even a note.

After a few agonizing minutes, Riley wondered if she should just leave it alone. It belonged to her past, stopping her from moving on for so long. She'd held on to that grievance for three years and look where it had gotten her—not very far from where she'd started.

Riley put the letters away on her bedside table. Forget dinner. She was too worried to eat, too confused by the events of the past few hours and the things that Gareth had told her. She needed to be ready for the visit from the Health Department in the morning, to deal with the repercussions from the review about the rat someone swore they saw at the Library Cafe. But if Gareth was right, it was probably just someone with a grudge against the cafe for some reason. And after having cleaned up the entire cafe and not finding a single rat or mouse dropping, she thought he was almost certainly right.

* * *

Though the review about the rat remained on their Yelp page, a few regular customers left their reviews about how the Library Cafe was one of the cleanest places in Manhattan. Just as Gareth had suggested, the review about the rat had to be fake since, unlike the new reviewers who gave the Library five stars and written reviews for other businesses, this one only had that single review for the Library Cafe.

Riley figured that maybe she better start getting the hang of social media after all. It didn't take much to set up an account for the cafe. It would certainly highlight their products and their services. Besides, it was about time Allen ushered the cafe to the current century. It wasn't as if the Library Cafe hadn't already caused a stir on social media, with two major movie stars showing up at the counter two days in a row.

She could always focus on what the Library Cafe was known for the most—good coffee and amazing baristas behind the counter, people she'd trained herself. It was the place to find Ashe's caffè Medicí besides the flat white long before everyone else started offering them. And then there were the exclusive roast blends she'd come up with herself, after having worked with a roasting company upstate. How many pounds did they ship out to out-of-state customers each month?

But if someone were to ask Riley why she loved working at the Library Cafe, her answer was simple: the people. There was Percy, a media blogger, and caffeine addict, who'd sit in his usual spot with a view of the door where he could people-watch more than he should be blogging. And Rachel, the writer who would come in at noon and sit in front of her laptop with an angry face as she wrote her novel. She wasn't angry. She just had a terrible case of what she told Riley was her 'resting bitch face.'

And then there was Kyle—or Mister Kyle, as Riley and everyone else called him. He'd been a regular since Riley had started working behind the counter, always with his tailored suit as he came in for his coffee and the morning paper, and sip his coffee while his driver circled the block as often as he needed to until Mister Kyle was finished. Riley wondered why he didn't simply take his coffee to go, but she knew better than to ask. Carl said that he was a lawyer while Tessa said he was some CEO of some investment company. The man had a been a regular for so long she even carved his nickname—Mister Kyle—on the side of his favorite table.

After the Health Department officials left, it was business as usual, whether it was serving up her signature coffee blends to her regular customers, returning books back to where they belonged and making sure that the place was simply as homey as she wanted it to be.

When Allen came to take over the afternoon shift, Riley figured she'd make her way to Paige's house and pay her sister a visit. The triplets would be at preschool and Paige would probably be blogging about her latest adventure, whether it was a trip with the kids to South Street Seaport or something that had happened at the park that was interesting enough to blog about.

It was how she'd become a celebrity of sorts, Riley mused. Paige was all about connecting with people, with her bright blue eyes, wide-open smile and a desire to turn the spotlight on others after she'd basked in it herself first. Much as Riley loved her sister, she had to admit she was envious of Paige's confidence. It was something that came naturally to her, and as she'd grown older, Paige seemed to be blessed with even more of it. Being a former model had given her the carriage to walk into a place and command attention immediately. It didn't hurt that she was the center of Clint's world and the mother of his three beautiful sons either.

But family was family—except for her father, who never really cared for Riley, and had blamed her for causing her Mother's MS, even when Riley had nothing to do with it. And when the fire gutted their old apartment, leaving Riley and her mother in ICU from smoke inhalation, Sid Eames' hatred of Riley only intensified when his wife died from complications. As far as family was concerned, Paige was all Riley had now.

Her phone beeped, notifying her that she'd received a text message. Riley stopped in front of a store window decorated with a Thanksgiving theme and pulled out her phone from her back pocket.

It was Ashe. He'd texted a picture of himself lying in bed next to an empty pillow. Over the pillow, he had added the sign 'YOU ARE HERE' and inserted the words 'SUPPOSED TO BE' between 'are' and 'here.'

So she sent him a picture of her smiling in front of the Thanksgiving decorations.

By the time Riley arrived at the Caldwell brownstone, she might as well have been walking on air. Ashe always made her feel good about herself, and she wondered if that was because she had fallen head over heels in love with him. If she weren't, she could consider herself crazy.

As Riley closed the front door behind her, slipping her keys back in her purse, she heard the sound of music coming from Paige's office downstairs. While Clint had his study on the second floor, across from the master bedroom, and the triplets had their bedroom on the third floor, Paige had chosen to have her office in the English basement, or what she preferred to call her garden apartment, a floor that was partially below and above ground level. With its private entrance, it was a cozy studio apartment on its own that Riley almost moved into it after she'd been kicked out of her apartment. But she'd refused only because she didn't want to bother Paige and Clint and their new family, not when she was too humiliated to face anyone else.

At least in Jackson Heights, her father wouldn't have given a damn how she was doing—which was probably the reason it was Paige who found her on the bathroom floor with a needle still in her arm while her father was nursing his hangover in the living room.

As Riley made her way down the steps, she thought she heard voices—Paige's and someone else's. But then, if Paige did have company, then Riley would just spend the rest of the afternoon checking out a few vintage shops. Maybe she'd find an old record for Ashe, maybe one that he didn't have yet, she thought as she pushed the door to Paige's office open.

She should have just gone back outside and shopped for something for Ashe, Riley thought then, her eyes widening at the sight in front of her. But then, if she'd done that, would she still be in the dark at what was really going on, asking the same questions over and over again and not getting any answers?

Riley stared at the two naked bodies in front of her, too shocked to say anything, before she turned away and fled up the stairs, ignoring the sound of her name being called. Riley knew she'd be out the main door by the time one of them would be fully clothed again, and far away from it all.

But no distance between her and what she had witnessed could ever change what had happened. Thoughts raced through Riley's mind as she stumbled through the throng of people along the sidewalk, her face burning with shock and humiliation.

How could she not have seen it before today?