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ou've got the most gorgeous tan; I'm so jealous of you."

I continue stirring sugar into my teacup, smiling at Tara's wistful tone. "Thank you, babe – nothing a self-tanner can't achieve for yourself."

"Ugh. Can I have a cool mom that plans trips to Cuba so we can lay piss-drunk at a resort together?"

Laughing, I take a sip of my raspberry-chai. "Your mom's pretty cool, too."

She harrumph as she peruses the menu. We all know she's going to crave something with chocolate and bananas.

I came back to Vancouver two days ago and while I was still jet-lagged, I needed to see my friends. We'd decided to go to Le Petit Moulin for late-night coffee with Teagan, who'd returned home just as I was leaving on vacation.

Teagan's currently perched by the counter, having a conversation with one of her future co-workers. She told us now that she was back, she'd be sharing a place with Elsie and working here until she figured out what to do with her life.

"Noah is so cute," I tell Tara – he's the tall ginger guy Teagan has been occupied with for the last ten mins.

Tara doesn't look up from the menu. "He's gay. I learned the hard way."

"Oh, my God," I gasp. "There's a story there."

"Not one you'll be hearing any time soon."

Teagan's already sauntering back with a huge plate of chocolate banana cream pie.

"Yes, gimmie." Tara extends her hands. "I've got my periods. I need."

Teagan gently deposits the plate on our table. "Since they're closing soon and Elsie likes to make a fresh batch of this every morning, Noah says we can have the rest. On the house."

She pulls out three spoons and we start to dig-in. Tara is making embarrassing moaning sounds as she feeds the monster inside of her. "That's what I'm talking about. Did you have to flirt with Noah to get this? Because he's gay, you know. I already shot my shot at him and nada. We play for different teams."

Teagan smacks Tara's arm. "Of course, I know he's gay. Just because I'm having a conversation with the opposite gender, doesn't mean I want to fuck them."

I lick my spoon and go back for another bite. "True. So, Teagan. Spill. What happened to the blond?"

Teagan's eyes sparkle as she laughs – and it's so refreshing because she hasn't done a whole lot of it lately – and twirls her strands between fingers adorned with a bunch of rings. "Oh, I got tired of it. Wanted to go back to my natural roots. New beginnings and shit."

I nod at her. She's always had the best hair out of all of us. So long, luscious and healthy.

"I for one am sad you colored it again. We could have been blondes together," Tara teases.

We spend a few more moments conversing before Tara's phone starts ringing with a videocall. It's Nat. We put her on facetime so she can join us at our date, while we watch her do her skin-care routine.

"This feels like old times," Teagan echoes softly. "I really missed this."

I reach forward to grasp her hand. Tara twines their arms together and leans her head on her shoulder. "I'm so glad you're back. This is what's been missing this whole time. The feeling of us, you know?"

"I'm glad we took time apart and found ourselves. Sometimes it's difficult to do that with the same people we're always surrounded with. I hate to put it this way, but they can limit our growth. Time away really helped my heart grow fonder and my character," I tell the,. "I feel like I'm finally headed towards the best version of me."

"Aww," Nat replies and her video freezes for a second. "I couldn't agree more. I know I'm far away, but I feel the same. I've met so many different perspectives and people – things happened to me that wouldn't if I was still there. So many opportunities and challenges that strengthen you."

There's a sweetness floating in the small bubble of our table as we talk like old times, recounting forgotten memories and laughing so loud that people think we're crazy. And maybe we are, but this is our moment. We joke. We tease. We add new layers to our life-long friendship. This is growth. This is what happens when time tests our ties and we breathe more life into them.

It's nearly closing time. The clack of heels resonates against the linoleum flooring and we pivot – mid-laughter – to see Elsie approaching us with a matching grin, as if our happiness is infectious.

"Hey, Els. We'll be leaving soon," Teagan says with another burst of laughter.

Her cousin shakes her head at us. "It's okay. I just wanted to say hi to you ladies. Comment ça va?"

"Bien," I reply to her on our behalf. "Elsie, you make the best desserts in town. That pie was to die for."

She blows me a kiss. "Thank you, amour. I'm glad you all enjoyed."

Le Petit Moulin really is the best place to get your sugar fix, and it helps that Elsie Manning is such a ray of sunshine, no matter what day or time. As per usual, she's dolled up in her work-clothes: black mini dress, a pink frilly apron that's only the slightest bit stained, winged liner and pink lipstick, her hairdo all loud and retro with big side-swept bangs and, of course, a crazy pair of eccentric heels. Today she's wearing orange stilettos with yellow polka dots and ridiculous pompoms. She's still such a gem.

I can also see that big tits run in the Manning family.

Tara whistles. "You look smashing tonight, Els. Like always. Hot date after work?"

Elsie blushes from head to toe, her cream skin taking on a pinkish hue. "N-No. You know me," she says awkwardly. "Always too busy working."

"I worry for you." Tee reaches forward to clasp her hand. "How are you going to make friends when this is bakery is your whole life? You're young. Close shop early. Go out and party."

"I'm not that young," she jests, still shifting uncomfortably from one feet to another.

"You're twenty-six," Tara deadpans. "That's young as hell. If you need a boyfriend, I've got you covered. I know plenty of guys who'll want to tap that a–"

"– And I'm leaving this conversation!" Elsie shoots us a look over her shoulder as she walks away. "Have a good night ladies."

Teagan watches her retreating with a sad look. "She's so amazing you know – Elsie's my role model. She's got her shit together, opened her business so young and she's successful. But she's so quiet and reserved. I know women don't need men, but I feel like she's missing companionship. Someone to just talk to at the end of her day and unwind. She's a workaholic."

"You really think so?" I ask.

Tee nods. "Hell yeah. Even when the shop closes, she doesn't leave. She stays back in the kitchen until one to two am, working on new recipes. Always hustling."

"The right man will come along for her, when the time is right," Tara chimes in and we all agree.

* * *

Tara is driving me back home and the gentle sound of Jessie Ware voice fills the silence between us, until my phone blares with a familiar ringtone.

An old picture of Pierre and I flashes before me, the selfie we took by the Eiffel Tower, and I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia. With a small reluctant sigh, I pick it up.

Tara automatically lowers the sound of the music so I can hear better.

"Allo," I murmur to him.

"Hey, Cher. Just wanted to say Merry belated Christmas."

I didn't text him on the 25th, because I was scared of where our exchange would leave us. I don't want to lead him on, but I do want to make sure he's been okay. Mentally and emotionally, at the very least, after Lise Moreau fucked with him.

But some part of me felt like I was cheating Trent, so I could never do it.

Our last call had ended horribly – my fault – but after some time had trickled by, I texted him an apology...Because he's so damn nice, he accepted my olive branch. The truth is, I don't think I could ever deserve this man.

Helpless now, I pick up. He's taken the initiative to call me and be the bigger person. We haven't really spoken in the last month. He occasionally sent me a snap here and there, as if vocalizing that we are okay.

Despite it all, ex-fiancé or not, Pierre had stuck a giant bandage on me when I arrived in France two years ago, and I owed him this much friendship anyways. Especially when he wasn't making any advances towards me or insinuating we were still in a relationship.

I think he's a little bit lonely, a little bit screwed in the head right now, and I don't blame him after everything.

I've kept my distance, but I figure if he's calling me, it's got to be bad.

"Joyeux Noel. I, um, was in Cuba with my mom, so I couldn't text you before."

Tara is attentively listening. I keep my tone light and impersonal. Pierre does the same. Our conversation lasts a minute, tops.

We hang up peacefully.

"Was that your ex-fiance?" Tara scowls. "Why is he calling you? I thought you were done with him and all about Trent now. You know, after you found out he fucking cheated on you!"

"He didn't cheat on me," I say regretfully, my voice small as Tara turns into my parking lot.

She kills the ignition and faces me. "Excuse me?"

I was just as bewildered the first time Ethan told me what happened, and appalled that women like Lise Moreau exist and aren't behind fucking bars.

"Tara, he didn't cheat on me. Long story short, I found out awhile back. Turns out, he was at a Halloween party and so was his psychotic ex-girlfriend. She drugged him, took a bunch of suggestive pictures and tried to take advantage of..." My voice cracks and tears sting my eyes. I have a hard time talking about it. It wasn't my thing to say, but I feel the need to relay to Tara. "It's all so hard because he didn't deserve any of this, but I know in my gut that Trent is who I need and want to be with. There's no doubt."

Tara reaches forward to rub my arms up and down. "Oh, honey. I'm so fucking sorry. I'm speechless. I don't even know what to say."

I sniffle and give her a shaky smile. "The messed-up part is I will always love Pierre, Tara. But I know I'm not in love with him. I love him for how he saw me – a shell of the girl I used to be – but never judged me. He made me feel like myself again in those two years. He taught me that I'm not defined by how many times my asshat of an ex-stepfather hit me. This guy helped me heal a piece of myself when I got to Paris, Tara. Made me smile. Shit, someone out there loved me enough to get down on one knee and ask me to spend the rest of my life with them. At that moment, I always felt like there was something I was missing, and I thought it was him. So I said yes. Then I broke his heart when I came back here and realized...Pierre mended me together and helped me find the strong girl I am today, because I was always meant to return to Trent. Trent is what I've been missing. What my heart's been longing for since I was young, and no man can compare to him."

"I get it. I get it," Tara hushes me before I become hysteric.

"Why do I think I've spent the last weeks convincing him so hard of what I feel for him?" Tears course down the slopes of my cheeks. "I want to be with Trent, but I don't know what to do about Pierre. I don't want to lead him on because of Trent, but how do I cut him off completely?"

Tara bites her lip and stares out her windshield. "This is tough. Sweetie, I can only imagine how much it hurts. The thing is, I wouldn't blame you for not cutting out Pierre completely. It makes sense because he was your friend first and he needs you right now as a friend. As long as it remains at that, it shouldn't be a problem. Right?"

If I'm being honest with myself, I don't know if I want to cut Pierre off completely. If we can stay friendly and I can check up on him every now and then to make sure he hasn't fallen off the bandwagon, I'll be content.

"Besides, everyone knows you and Trent are endgame," Tara chimes in.

For what feels like the millionth time tonight, I burst out laughing.

* * *

I'm in my kitchenette having a bowl of oatmeal with Sara. I do this before I head out to hang out with my mom for the day. Tara's cryptic text confuses me.

"Who's that?" Sara asks with a mouthful of maple-syrup oatmeal.

I wave my phone. "Hah. It's Tara. She's asking what she should wear to Inga's party. You know she always throws those big affairs."

Sarah nods. "Ouh, yes. I'm going in a maxi and hooker heels."

"You should leave your hair like that." Sara's got a beautiful curly afro that she rarely rocks. I love when she leaves her hair open and free. "I was thinking of a dress, something short. Inga's probably going to wear a designer gown, knowing her."

I'm also thinking of a dress because I know how much Trent happens to love me in my little skirts. Just the thought of seeing him tonight warms me. It's been so long. I'm aching for the sight of him.

* * *

As we ride up the elevator to Inga's penthouse, Tara whistles at me when she catches me eyeing my reflection in the mirror.

"Hot damn. Someone's looking like a ten tonight," she flirts with me. "Can I have your number, baaaaby!"

Sara whoops next to her and they laugh like a bunch of maniacs while I blush.

I opted for a yellow, puffy satin babydoll number – the kind with spaghetti straps and that covers just the tops of my thighs. I want to feel sexy tonight and see if Trent's resolve would break just a little bit.

The party is in full swing when the elevator doors ping open. My jaw is slack, but I'm quick to recover. Inga is known for throwing lavish parties – everything about her reeks old money – so this is to be expected.

There are gold and black balloons everywhere. The music is just loud enough that conversation is drowned and there's an electrifying energy wafting in the air. Drunk and sober people mingle together. The lights are low, and the heat is high. Bodies sway in time with the beat and others stay still as they engage in conversations.

"Holy shit," Sara mutters next to us. "There's a photobooth, a disco ball, and a champagne fountain. I'm in heaven."

I try to peer over the flurry of people to see if I can spot Trent, but to no avail. Tara next to me is texting Jared to see where they are at.

"They're running late," Tara hollers over the music. "But Oli is already here."

I try to mask my disappointment, but at least he's still coming.

Sara weaves her hand with mine when she notices. "Come on, babydoll. Let's get us a glass of champagne and start the party."

I let her lead me to the fountain smackdab in the middle of the extravagant penthouse. It's giant and sparkly. After we've filled our glasses, we toast to the new year and cheer.

From my peripheral vision, I see Oliver approaching us. He molds himself behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Hi, ladies. Looking good tonight."

"Speak for yourself, you devil." Tara flicks the open collar of his black button down.

I affectionately run my fingers over his forearm, still locked in an embrace. "You look so handsome tonight, Oli."

He's wearing his fancy gold watch, trousers that we know make his thighs and butt look spectacular, and he's even slicked his hair back. He started growing it out a few weeks ago, when he claimed he wanted a different look. The dark five-o-clock shadow only heightens his appeal.

He pecks my cheek and releases me with mischief dancing in his golden eyes. "Ladies. Ladies. I didn't come here to get hit on. Please, I have a girlfriend.

"Shut up, Oli." We roll our eyes. He laughs boyishly, before pecking Tara and Sara's cheeks in greeting.

"Speaking of my girlfriend, have any of you seen her?" He scratches his head. "I swear, I've lost her somewhere between the bar and the bathroom. There's so many people, it's hard to make out faces."

"Sorry, Oliver." Sara shrugs. "We just got here. We'll keep you posted if we find her before you."

He salutes and leaves in search of her. Tara and Sara want to dance, but I'm not in the mood yet. I see there's a chocolate fountain near the bar and I excuse myself, before threading the crowd towards my destination.

A passing waiter hands me a napkin and a skewer with a smile. I take it and start poking at perfectly lined strawberries, before dipping them in chocolate gooeyness.

I'm interrupted by a big paw that lands on my shoulder, jostling me a little.

"Hey, girl." It's Lance Campa.

I break out into a huge grin. "Hey, you. I didn't know you'd be coming here." I step into his open arms to give him a hug.

I've been having study dates with Lance ever since I met him at Starbucks two months ago. Turns out, every week that I'd go, he was there, and we sort of struck up a type of friendship.

Funnily enough, he's the one who gave me the idea to start wooing the guy I cared about. He threw it around as a joke, I think. However, it stuck with me and after Nat's birthday, I decided I'd show Trent how I feel. But I never gave Lance Trent's name. I figured since they were both on the football team and gossip travels fast... Plus, I wasn't sure where Trent and I stood back then.

Lance beams wide. "You look so good tonight."

"Not to shabby yourself," I laugh. First time he's not in his football jersey. He's a beast of a man, even donned in simple jeans and a black tee. "New year, new you?"

He laughs and blushes. Or maybe that's just the light playing tricks. "Something like that."

We share some jokes and overload on chocolate and fruits, since I haven't seen him after the semester ended. After awhile, I need to pee so I excuse myself.

From the last time I was here, I remember there's a bathroom near the far side of the penthouse, an area Inga usually keeps blocked from guests. But since I'm her friend, I figured I get a pass.

Just as I round the corner and am about to enter the hallway, I hear hushed voice – hurried, distressed and one of slight furiousness.

Flattening myself against the wall, I angle my head just enough to catch sight of Inga – in a beautiful blood red gown – leaning frigidly against the other wall, with a man almost caging her in.

On first sight, I don't recognize him. He looks just a tad bit older. He also looks like he's a bit overdressed, in a black pinstripe, three-piece suit and tie. He towers over her with a shark-like smirk, ash blond hair, piercing blue eyes and a callous look. His knuckle tats aren't the only scary thing about him – the air he exudes, it's so redolent of the men who disobey the law. The kind of men Inga's father is rumored to have associations with.