“Thanks!” She went around to the other side of the lockers for privacy, and Bo found a plastic bag to put her dirty clothes in and packed it into her backpack along with her skates—after drying them off and wrapping the wheels in a plastic bag.

Blayne ran back out, now dressed, and reached for her bag. Bo put his hand over it and said, “Shoes.”

“Oh!” She spun in a full circle looking for her sneakers, so he held them up to her face.

“Here.”

“Oh. Thanks!”

“Sit.”

She sat down and undid the laces on her sneakers. At least she tried. Instead she made knots. That’s when her cell phone started to ring. She looked at it with something as close to fear as Bo had ever seen. He reached for it and she shook her head. “It’s gonna be Gwen,” she whispered. “She’ll kick my ass.”

“Why are you whispering?” he whispered back. “I’m sure she can’t hear you.”

“You don’t know Gwen.”

He tossed her the phone and grabbed her sneakers. “Answer it.”

She did. “Hello?” She immediately winced. “I know I’m late. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Where am I?” Her eyes moved around the room, and he wondered what she was looking for. An acceptable lie?

“I’m, uh, stuck on Fifth. Why am I on Fifth?”

Bo kneeled in front of her to put her sneakers on but stopped long enough to cover the phone and say, “You stopped to get her breakfast.”

“I did?”

“You did now.”

“Oh!” She smiled. “Thanks.” Clearing her throat, she said into the phone, “I stopped to get you breakfast, but I didn’t know traffic would be this bad. Is it a good breakfast?” Blayne looked at him and he nodded.

“Best in Manhattan,” he whispered.

“Best in Manhattan, apparently.” She smiled, now relieved. “Yes. The coffee will be hot. If it’s not hot, I’ll get some more at a Starbucks or something. Okay. Won’t be long.”

She disconnected the call. “I hate lying.”

“Probably because you’re really bad at it.”

“I know.”

“If she’d been standing in the room, you’d have been screwed.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

Bo put her sneakers on her feet and tied the laces. “There.” He reached over and grabbed her backpack. “I’ve packed up everything.”

Blayne took the bag. “That is so sweet. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stood. “Got a pen?”

“Yeah.” She dug into her cargo pants and pulled out a pen. Bo took her hand and wrote on her palm, “This is where you’re going toget your breakfast for the two of you. It’s shifter run and not far from here. Best Danish in Manhattan. Tell Mike I sent you. I’ll call him and tell him you’re coming.” When Blayne only gazed up at him, he added, “You go wherever you’re going without food and/or coffee and that tigon’s going to rip your face off.”

“Good point.” She slung the backpack over her shoulder. “Thanks for all this.”

“No problem. And get a new watch.”

“I will . . . eventually.” She took off out the locker room door, and as Bo came out behind her, Blayne was running back. He wondered if her life was made up of U-turns.

“Wrong way,” she said with a laugh.

“I know.” He sighed. “And seven tomorrow. Here.”

She tripped to a stop. “Seven tomorrow here for what?”

“Blayne . . .”

“Oh.” She laughed. “Totally forgot.” She pointed at her head. “Thank God it’s attached.” Without warning, she suddenly sprung up—again without a running start—and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much! See you tomorrow!”

“And you better be on time!” he yelled after her. “And don’t forget the Danish!”

“He was right,” Gwen said around a mouthful of Danish. “This is the best Danish in Manhattan.”

Blayne nodded her head and ate. She was already in love with the bakery because she found treats that were sweetened with honey rather than sugar. When she reached for her third Danish, she said to Gwen, “How did you know I was lying anyway?”

“I always know when you’re lying. And those dramatic pauses certainly didn’t help.”

“I know, I gotta work on the pauses.”

“So how did training go with the great Novikov?”

“It went really well. Apparently I don’t have enough focus.”

“Someone’s Captain Obvious.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that everyone knows you don’t have enough focus. Even you know.”

Blayne couldn’t even find the energy to argue that point. “Okay, yeah. I know. But you know, he’s really not that bad a guy. In fact—”

“Don’t do it, Blayne.”

“—I feel bad for the guy.”

“And here we go!”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t need to be fixed, Blayne.”

“I’m not trying to fix him.” She took another bite of Danish, chewed it thoroughly, swallowed, and said, “But he could be a much happier person.”

Gwen’s head dropped forward, a large sigh escaping.