I felt rather than heard the silence on the other end of the line. It was leaden, and pressed down on my chest as the awkwardness grew. And grew. When I chanced a look up, Max was staring at me, wearing an enormous shit-eating grin.

“You are so lucky I’m not Bennett right now,” Chloe said, finally. “The amount of crap I would give you is on the planetary scale.”

“Don’t worry, Max is here and I can tell he’s enjoying this enough for the both of them.”

She laughed. “We’re on it. Bras to support the supple br**sts of your nongirlfriend. God, you’re a pig.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up and I handed the phone back to Max, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh, Victoria,” he said, giddy. “Do you have a Secret? Do you have a fondness for helping women find well-fitting ladywear?”

“Fuck off,” I said through a laugh. His expression was as if Leeds United had just won the f**king World Cup. “She’s been joining me on my morning run, and she wears these . . . whatever. They’re not sports bras. And her bras do that . . .” I gestured to my chest. “That weird four-boob thing up front? I just figured if they were out shopping already . . .”

Max leaned his chin on his fist and smiled at me. “Christ you’re precious, William.”

“You know how I feel about br**sts. It’s no joking matter.” And, I didn’t add, Ziggy was stacked like a pinup girl.

“Indeed not,” he agreed, lifting his paper again. “I just like how you’re pretending you wouldn’t cream your panties for a girl with four tits.”

About half an hour later, the door behind Max opened and I looked up as a tangle of shiny hair and shopping bags careened toward our table. Max and I stood, helping Ziggy unload her loot on one of the chairs.

She wore a pale blue sweater, dark fitted jeans, and green flats. She wasn’t dressed like she was coming off a runway, but she looked comfortable, stylish. Her hair was . . . different. I narrowed my eyes, studying it as she slipped her messenger bag from her shoulder. She’d cut it, or maybe it was that she just had it down instead of confined to her trademark messy bun. It fell past her shoulders, thick, and straight and smooth. But despite the changes in her clothes and hair, she, fortunately, still looked like Ziggy: a tiny bit of makeup, bright smile, sun-kissed freckles.

She reached her hand out for Max’s, smiling. “I’m Hanna. You must be Max.”

Grasping her hand, he said, “Nice to meet you. I trust you had a good morning with the two crazy women?”

“I did.” She turned to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and I tried not to groan when she squeezed. I both loved and hated her hugs. They were tight, almost smothering, but disarmingly warm. When she let go, she collapsed into a chair. “That Chloe likes her lingerie, though. I think we spent an hour in that section alone.”

“Let me find my surprised face,” I murmured, discreetly checking out Ziggy’s chest as I sat back down. The girls looked fantastic: full and high. Just perfectly in place. She must have purchased some lingerie herself.

“On that note . . .” Max stood, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. “I think it’s time for me to find the Petal and see how successful her shopping ventures were. Nice to meet you, Hanna.” He patted my shoulder, winking at her. “Have a nice lunch.”

Ziggy waved to Max, and then turned to me, eyes wide. “Wow. He’s . . . hot. I met Bennett earlier, too. You guys are like the Hot Men’s Club of Manhattan.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing. And anyway, do you really think we’d let Max in?” I said, grinning. “You look great, by the way.” Her head shot to me, eyes surprised, and I quickly added, “I’m glad you didn’t let them cover you up with makeup. I would miss your freckles.”

“You would miss my freckles?” she asked in a whisper and I winced inwardly at how forward I sounded. “What man says that? Are you trying to make me have an orgasm right now?”

Whoa. I no longer felt like I’d been too forward. I worked very hard to not look at her chest again when she said that. I was still getting used to the way she seemed to let out every thought she had. Glancing down at her shopping bags, I softly redirected, “I . . . uh, it looks like you bought plenty of running shoes.”

Bending, she rummaged through a few things and I blinked up to the ceiling, ignoring the view of her full cle**age. “I think I got everything,” she said. “I’ve never shopped like that. Liv is probably going to pop some champagne when she hears.” When I finally looked back down, her eyes were scanning my face, my neck, my chest as if she were just now seeing me. “Did you go for a run this morning?”