“Hey, you!” Rusty squealed back, hugging Tate to her side.

“How're you two doing? Looking cozy,” she said.

“Great party, Mrs. Kane,” the guy said, toasting her with his can of PBR.

“Oh god, don't call me that, it just makes me sound like an old lady. Tate,” she introduced herself as she held out her hand. He shook it quickly.

“Howard Steele,” he replied.

“Wait wait wait,” Tate gasped. “Your name is Steele!?”

“Yeah. It's a weird kind of name,” he laughed.

“No, it's just … Steele … Rusty. Rusty Steele!” she practically yelled.

“Oh my god, Tate,” Rusty snorted, then she delicately hiccuped.

“Hey, I didn't even notice. I think this means we have to get married, Rusty,” Howard teased. She blushed even more and it suddenly hit Tate that her friend was just a tad bit drunk, and more than a tad bit infatuated.

“I think we should at least kiss first,” Rusty giggled. “I mean, can you imagine anything worse than marrying someone only to find out they're an awful kisser?”

“I can imagine a few things,” he replied in a low voice.

Rusty's cheeks practically caught on fire after that comment, so Tate excused herself. She knew her friend had been having a pretty long dry spell. But vodka plus sexual frustration multiplied by over the top flirty banter pretty much equaled Boomtown. She was willing to bet the dry spell would be over before the night was through.

I'm like Cupid, only for sex. Way cooler.

She spied Sanders standing at one end of the pool, finally alone. He'd been surrounded by people all afternoon – over the years, he'd changed. He was halfway decent at socializing now. Or at least at pretending to socialize.

On top of that, he'd become something of a legend. Everyone at Kraven Brokerage had heard stories about Jameson's former assistant, the quiet man who basically ran everything, and yet wasn't anywhere near as scary as his boss. So all the new brokers had been eager to make his acquaintance and get on his good side, and the female ones hadn't been immune to his classic good looks.

Not to mention his new and improved physique. I better get over there before someone drags him away again.

“Having fun?” he asked when she came up alongside him.

“I am,” she assured him, then she slipped her arm though his and hugged close to him. “Everything seems to be going well.”

“I'm not a fan of the hay,” he said as he leaned over to brush some of the offending decoration off his pant leg. “But everything else seems to be going according to plan.”

“The hay makes everything quaint, it's great. Are you really leaving me on Monday, Sandy?” she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Yes. My flight departs at three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“It gets harder and harder every time,” she mumbled. He was silent for a second, then she felt his cheek against the top of her head, and his arm was squeezing hers tightly.

“It is not easy,” he agreed. “But I am only ever a phone call away.”

“But I like you right here.”

“Sometimes missing someone is what makes you love them more,” he suggested. “If I were at home all the time, we would never get the opportunity to miss each other, and thus we wouldn't be able to love each other as much.”

“I hate it when you make leaving seem like a good idea. Just let me hate you a little bit,” she joked.

“Alright.”

They stood in a companionable silence for a while, just people watching. When Sanders stiffened up, though, she knew something had caught his attention. Something that annoyed him. She glanced around and saw Rich heading in their direction. Before she could say a word, though, Sanders turned away and headed back into the house, forcing her to walk along next to him.

“I don't get it,” she said as they moved through the rooms and into the kitchen. “Jameson threw this party to show Rich how awesome and rich he is, how he's totally the coolest guy ever and that's why I'm with him, yet I haven't seen him even talk to Rich once since he's gotten here.”

“Knowing Jameson, I'm sure whatever it is he's planning is much more interesting than simply talking to Mr. Klimas,” Sanders pointed out. She stayed by the door while he ignored the caterers and cooks in the kitchen, stepping around them smoothly till he reached the cupboard next to the fridge.

“Oh god, that just makes me nervous,” Tate laughed, watching as Sanders took a bottle of Jack Daniels off a shelf. He grabbed two shot glasses as well, then walked back over to her.

“Really? I would think you are used to his antics by now,” he replied, leading the way into the library.

“I don't think anyone could ever get used to Satan's antics,” she snorted.

Sanders didn't reply, just went about pouring the whiskey into the glasses. Tate moved behind the desk and sat in the big chair while Sanders moved one of the wingback chairs over so it was next to her. Then he scooted the glasses across the desk until they each had one in front of them.

“Do you have something in mind?” Tate asked, picking up her shot. Sanders thought for a moment, then picked his up and stared at her over the rim.

“To good friends,” he offered, and they both took their shots. Then she poured another round.

“To soulmates,” she corrected him. A blush started creeping up his neck, but he nodded and they took their second shots.

“I have not had whiskey since the last time I visited,” he breathed as he shoved his empty glass away from him.

“Pussy,” she snickered, and she took a pull straight from the bottle. “You know, Sandy, sometimes I worry about life.”

“Why?” he asked, adjusting the knot in his tie.

“Because everything is so … I was talking to Rusty last night, and the way she was talking, it was almost like she missed our old life together. And I was thinking about those days and about how weird it is to imagine my life without you guys in it. I mean, I feel like I've known you forever now,” she told him.

“Four years would be more accurate.”

“Ug, you know what I mean. You're a part of me, it almost seems weird that you weren't there the whole time. And Jameson ...”