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“Rosalie,” Fran says, suddenly in the room. I peek through the crack of my fingers to see her striding toward me. “Honey, you might want to put pants on. You’re startling Rosalie.”

“I’m leaving. I’m sorry. Sorry, Cal!” I cup a hand around my eyes, shielding me from Fran’s half-dressed husband. I swear, I am that ultra-strong magnet, only I’m attracting men in their undies these days. “You said to just walk in, so I decided to walk in and⁠—”

“You’re fine. You are not leaving.”

“I should have knocked!” I say, hand still up around my face.

Fran pulls my hand down, giving me a full view of her living room, of her half-dressed husband. “No need to knock.”

“Maybe a small need,” Callum says, hiding behind the couch. However, the top of those boxers is in full view.

“Or you could just put pants on,” Fran says. “It’s not our friends’ fault you like to walk around in your underwear. Or better yet, get over it. You have great legs, babe.”

Callum clears his throat. “Right. Well, I think for now, I’ll go find my pants.”

“Good choice,” Fran says, kissing his cheek.

“Is this crazy?” I ask Fran the minute that her husband has left the room.

Because she’s Fran, she knows exactly what I’m referring to, and it’s not Cal’s undies. “Not at all. I’m just glad you’re ready. It’s been more than seven months. There are a lot of people who miss you.”

I fist and shake out my fingers at my side. “Right. How many people did you invite to come over?” I possibly should have put a limit on it. Fran has been known to go overboard… on everything.

“Including me? Seven. Just our closest friends from the past couple years.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I thought we’d start small. We’ll see how this goes and branch out.”

Small? Small is one or two. Not seven.

“Who?” I manage to say, my heart rate ticking rapidly in my neck and wrists.

“Me—see easy.” She grins. “Callum—he’s another easy one.”

“And?” I’m waiting for Zev’s name. She said she’d invite him. That was sort of the whole point of this. Or at least half the point. Part of the point is absolutely me being brave. Meeting new-old friends. Stretching myself. But a big part of this night is Zev and my soul. Grammy has convinced me that I must pay attention to my soul.

“Stella,” Fran snaps, “whom you’ve already met! So semi-easy.”

Less comfortable, but not a bad start, because Fran’s right. I’ve met her a couple times now. She’s nice. She does seem like someone we’d be friends with.

“Her husband Roman. He’s a Red Tail, too.” She’s ticking off on her fingers. Only three left. “Lucca Cruz, another Red Tail⁠—”

“It’s like we’re infested,” I mutter. I lose a few measly years and Fran gets us involved with an entire professional soccer team.

“And his girlfriend Maggie. She lives in Canyon Falls and is a referee for the MLS. They’ll be engaged any day now.” She lifts her finger. “Ooo, you met her at the game!”

“ML what?” I say, the pit in my stomach growing wider.

“Major League Soccer.”

“Aw. More soccer. I’m assuming we’ve become fans.”

“Big fans,” she says.

“That’s only six.” I’m waiting for the one name I know and miss and think about most of the time.

“Right. Zev is coming, too.”

I swallow. He’s coming. That’s what I’ve been waiting for—confirmation that he agreed to come. “Is he mad at me?” I say, my tone just above a whisper.

“Mad at you? Sweetie, why would he be mad at you?”