Page 80 of The Best Shot

“She’s watching us,” Yasmine said.

“She does that.”

“It’s unsettling.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

She didn’t look up from her mug when she asked, “Will I?”

“Hope so.”

Her mouth tipped up.

The coffee cooled. The Oreos disappeared. The door stayed closed.

The hollow was gone. I couldn’t have told you exactly when it left.

24

“HE’S NOT.”

YASMINE

Aweek after the night at the farmhouse, my girls and I were sitting side by side in a nail salon while a woman named Lana took a file to my left heel with monastic focus.

Hale had come along as an honorary invite, on the grounds that the man appreciated cuticle care with unsettling sincerity.

Nico was only supposed to drop Tabby off. Instead he lingered near the door, six-three and built like he split wood for fun, watching Hale reclined in the massage chair beside me, feet in warm water, eyes closed like this was his natural habitat.

“Remind me,” Nico said, “what the official reason was that I couldn’t join book club?”

Ava didn’t look up from her color samples. “Vibes.”

“Define vibes.”

“Having a penis would disrupt the group dynamic.”

Nico stuck a thumb in Hale’s direction. “And he doesn’t bring similar anatomical concerns to spa day?”

Tabby considered this seriously, looking at Hale, then back at Nico, like the thought had just occurred to her. “Well. No.”

“I asked you to marry me, Tabby.”

“But he exfoliates.”

Hale didn’t open his eyes. “I do.”

“Moisturizes too,” Annie added.

Hale cracked one eye open. “Also, I’m soothing. Some might say zen.”

Nico’s face moved by half a degree, which, for Nico, was deep affront. “I’m zen.”

Tabby patted his arm. “You are, babe. Just not pedicure zen.”

“What’s pedicure zen?”

Hale closed his eye again. “If you have to ask, then you’re not it.”