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Hugh frowns in confusion, but the second I hear it, I know who that is. My stomach flips, and warmth floods my veins. I’m frozen as Mom circles the counter and disappears into the hall. The door creaks open. Hugh and I stare at each other as a familiar voice floats down the hall. I know it from real life, he knows it from the radio.

Coen’s here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

COEN

A blonde woman in her fifties in an expensive workout set pulls open the door. Her eyes widen, giving me an intense up and down stare.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she says. “Are you the reason my daughter was crying earlier?”

“Yes, probably. But I’m not sure why, so I came to find out.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to slam the door in my face, but she steps aside and lets me in. A goldendoodle appears and gives me a suspicious stare, head down and ears perked. Feeling like I’m about to be interrogated, I follow Sabrina’s mom down the huge hallway into the kitchen. Her mom and stepdad do well for themselves.

We turn the corner. My heart about stops.

She’s in a big sweatsuit, hair piled on her head. And yes, her face is puffy. She stops mid-conversation with a graying man at her side. Her stepdad is the quintessential, almost-retirement age businessman. He’s leaning on the counter, shooting me a stern look, like I did something wrong. What’s going on here? Sabrina and I were fine one second. The next, she just fucking up and left.

“Hi,” I say.

She sniffs. “Hi.”

Silence, except for the dog panting.

“Sorry I ran away,” she says, voice quivering.

“Uh, it’s fine. I was just wondering…why you left.”

It’s incredibly uncomfortable to have this conversation with her parents staring me down. I’m also starving, haven’t showered, and I was sweating bullets on the plane because they didn’t have the air conditioning on. Then, I ended up having to walk ten blocks to get an Uber to her house. I was hoping my gesture might come across as more…well, like something that would impress her, convince her to hear me out. I’m a little worried I just look desperate and un-showered.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” I ask.

“We can go to my room,” she says.

“Oh, no, you can’t,” her mom says.

“Hey,” says her stepdad, putting his hand on her waist. “Sabrina’s twenty-four. It’s alright.”

Her mom is clearly the bulldog in this relationship, but she backs off, lifting a hand in acquiescence.

“I just want to talk,” I say.

Sabrina nods, turning and heading to the staircase. I skirt around the dog and go after her, following down an expansive hallway into a lavish, cream-colored room with a canopy bed. She shuts the door and turns to face me.

“Your dad called me,” I say.

Her pupils blow. “What? Why?”

“He asked to talk, so we did. He asked to talk to you, and I said I didn’t know where you were,” I say. “He was pretty mad.”

She bites her lip.

“Your dad has it out for me.”

She clears her throat, looking away. “I know. I’m sorry.”