I played it again, and Amber and I burst into laughter at last, doubling over as it shook us to the core. Cookie stood there. Speechless. Sadly, her astonished expression only served to prod us deeper into the darkest caverns of amusement, and my belly started hurting.

“Charley,” Cookie said, “what are we going to do?”

“Wait,” I said, holding up an index finger while I tried to gather myself.

Amber anchored her arm against me and sobered first. “Sorry, Mom. It’s just … she bounces.”

We crumpled into a heap of giggling Jell-O on the floor.

3

What does it mean if the holy water sizzles when it hits your skin?

—ASKING FOR A FRIEND

Once I was able to form complete sentences again, I promised Cookie I’d think long and hard about the possible ramification of that video. I’d made a similar promise to my high school principal when he told me to think about my actions that day. Who knew a wolf call would cause John Burrows to run Hailey Marsh over with his shiny new ’Stang? It was a pretty car. And a pretty boy. And Hailey’s legs totally healed after six months of leg braces and another six of physical therapy. Though her dream of the Olympics was pretty much over. I did feel bad about that.

I had to admit, however, I was very curious who’d posted that video.

“Quentin and I will find out,” Amber had said, her chin jutting proudly.

“Quentin and you will do your schoolwork,” Cookie replied. She’d drawn her eyebrows into a stern line, but her voice fell a few inches short of the intended emotion. Quentin did that to her. Turned her all soft and mushy.

“We will, Mom. Then we’ll find out who posted that video.” She gave me a thumbs-up. “We’re on it.”

Knowing those two, they’d do it. I thought about putting my friend Pari on it, too, just in case. That woman was a hacker extraordinaire. But I’d give them first crack at it.

In the meantime, I had to get dressed and get to work, because going to work in my pajamas was apparently the definition of unprofessional. Cookie’s words. I looked it up, though. She was wrong. Webster’s mentioned nothing about pajamas.

The bulk of Reyes’s anger seemed to have evaporated, but not his sudden … what? Insecurity? Was that what I’d felt wafting off him since we got back? Surely not. He was about as insecure as a jaguar in the jungle.

As he was leaving, wearing jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves folded up to his elbows, he turned back to me and leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, where I was pulling my hair into a ponytail. He lowered his head, his dark hair falling forward.

“I’ll see you for breakfast?” he asked, hesitant.

“I don’t know. I’ve kind of been seeing someone for breakfast on the side.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “And who would that be?”

“Her name is Caroline. I’m in love with her.”

“Is that right?”

“She makes the best mocha lattes I’ve ever had. She splashes in a touch of heavy whipping cream. Makes all the difference in the world.”

“So, your breakfast is a mocha latte?”

“Yes.”

“Mine’s better.”

Damn it. He was right. As much as I loved Caroline and her amazing mocha lattes, few things on the planet compared to Reyes’s huevos rancheros. He knew what chile did to me. He knew what he did to me, decadent creature that he was. He totally should have been a master chef. Or a male stripper. Or an exotic dessert. Reyes à la mode. I’d eat every bite of him and lick the plate clean.

Without another word, he pushed off the frame and left, but not before I caught a hint of his earlier anger. It was a protective type of thing, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was hiding anything else. Did I miss a vital detail in the video?

I guess I could do something crazy like ask him. We worked in the same building, so the journey wouldn’t be long. He had the restaurant on the bottom floor, and I had the offices on the top, and they both sat about fifty feet from our apartment building.

It was a great arrangement most of the time. But as I was trying to get back into the swing of things, the closeness only emphasized the distance I’d been feeling from him. The chasm.

Thankfully, during the fifty-foot walk to my office and the dozen or so stairs and the welcome mat I somehow managed to trip over every single day, I had an epiphany.

Cookie had beaten me to work, which was a good thing. I needed to announce my epiphany and proclaim my inevitable victory.

“I am going to seize this day,” I said to her when I walked over to her desk.

She was on her knees going through a cabinet, so I actually said it to her butt.

“Good for you,” she mumbled from inside the cabinet. “You can start by telling me where you hid the staples.”

“I’m serious, Cook.” I peeled off my jacket and tossed it toward a hook on the wall, missing by about twelve feet. But not even that would stop me. “No more wallowing,” I said as the black jacket crumpled to the ground like so many of my exes. “It’s time to take action.”

“Stapling is an action.”

“The way I see it, there are two kinds of people in this world.”

She paused her search and straightened to give me her full, undiluted attention. “This should be good.” She was still on her knees. It was kind of like being worshipped.

“There are those in this world who, when they have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, turn on the light. And there are those who leave it off.” I graced her with my best look of absolute determination. Jaw set. Shoulders straight. Eyes narrowed—just a little—as I anchored my fists onto my hips and looked off into the distance. “I pee in the dark, baby.”

“Which explains why you stub your pinkie toe so often.”

“I am the definition of adventurous.”

“Not to mention accident-prone.”

“I am getting my daughter back.”

A knowing grin slid across her. “Attagirl.”

Beep, or Elwyn Alexandra, was currently being cared for by Reyes’s human parents. The same parents he’d been stolen from as an infant. They were wonderful people, and I couldn’t have been more grateful for their willingness to help us, but giving her up for good had never been part of the plan. Not my plan, anyway.