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Then he walked me backward until my shoulders hit the kitchen wall, and put a hand flat on either side of my head.

“Had enough of you?” he said.

“It’s a fair question.”

“I was hard that Tuesday I came in for you to fix my patch. I’ve been hard since I walked into this kitchen this morning. I’ve had you every night for six days, and I woke up today wanting you so bad my hands shook.” His mouth was an inch from mine. His voice had dropped to almost nothing. “You want to know what happens when I’ve had enough of you, Ava-Rose?”

“Yes.”

“Well, so do I. I’ve had nine years to get tired of you. I tried. I never managed it for one day.” He kissed me, slow and deep, with his whole body holding me to the wall. “I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it.”

I believed him. For the first time in my life, I believed that man wanted to stay and had never wanted anything more in his life.

“You have to open your shop,” he said against my mouth. And I’d never wanted anything less.

It was a slow morning. Pete, the prospect who’d put up my plywood, sat on his bike outside. Havoc sat in his usual place and watched the street.

I gave the green silk dress a last press and hung it on the rack in the back with a fresh ticket pinned to the bag. Twenty dollars. I left the steam press on. I had a stack of work shirts to do after lunch.

Mid-morning the door opened and Brynn came in with one coffee.

She put it on the counter in front of me. She stayed on her feet, and she kept her back to Havoc.

“That’s to replace the one I mostly spilled on his floor,” she said. “I didn’t replace his though.”

“I can hear you,” Havoc said.

“Ava, tell your boyfriend I’m not speaking to him.”

“Tell my sister she’s doing great so far.”

“Tell him he isn’t funny.”

“Tell her I’m a little funny. Tell her I’ll change her oil today too, and I’ll do the brakes like I promised.”

Brynn almost smiled.

“Can I talk to you in the back?” she asked me.

She’d never set foot in my sewing room without climbing straight onto my cutting table. That morning she stood in the middle of the floor with her arms crossed.

“I’m not here to make up, Ava. I’m not there yet.” She blew out a breath. “I can’t think about anything else. I gave Mrs. Ortiz the wrong dog.”

“You didn’t.”

“For about a minute. They were both beagles, at least.”

I laughed before I could stop it. So did she, for a small moment.

“I need to ask you something,” she said, “and I need the truth. Is he good to you?”

I opened my mouth, and my eyes filled up before a word came out. But I didn’t have to answer. She was watching my face.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” She nodded a few times. “I’m still mad. At both of you. I need you to let me be mad for a while.”

“Okay.”

Out front, the door banged.