And right now, Emma was feeling an acute sense of gratefulness for these girlfriends who’d somehow welcomed her into their group, stunted emotions and all. When Emma had fled North Carolina seven years ago, it had mostly been about escaping the pain of her breakup with Cassidy.

But in her deep, terrifying pain, she’d shut out other people as well. Her friends had slowly stopped calling, because she never called them back. Her aunts, who’d tried to fill the surrogate mother role after Emma’s mom passed away of cancer when Emma was sixteen, had slowly given up on fretting over her.

Her father, for his part, never stopped leaving bossy voice mails demanding that she return home immediately. The man was determined to pretend like nothing was amiss between them. Refused to acknowledge the starring role he’d had in the demise of her relationship with Cassidy. He still called every other Sunday. Sometimes Emma picked up. Sometimes she didn’t. Maybe it was wrong, but she was still mad at him.

And then there was Daisy. Daisy, whom Emma had tried desperately to be mad at, but who’d refused to stop calling and texting and writing long letters until Emma had forgiven her. Daisy had made a mistake not telling Emma the truth about Cassidy, but one of Daisy’s more admirable qualities was her willingness to admit mistakes, and, more important, to learn from them.

Still, Daisy, as wonderful as she was, was back in North Carolina.

Julie, Riley, and Grace were here. And until they’d wiggled their way into her life with their happy enthusiasm and unfailing loyalty, Emma hadn’t realized just how horribly alone she was.

“I love you guys,” Emma said, the words bursting forth. “You know that, right? I mean, I know I never say it, and I’m not all hugsy like Julie, and kind like Grace, or outspoken like Ri—”

“We know, honey,” Grace said, reaching out and squeezing Emma’s hand. “We totally know.”

Riley stepped forward and tapped Emma’s temple gently. “Guys, I think the floodwater went into her brain. She’s going soft on us.”

“So that’s a yes on money, then?” Julie asked. “We can lend you some?”

“No,” Emma said, her voice kind but emphatic. “I’m fine on money. Really.”

It was true. Her Stiletto salary was decent, if not exactly luxurious, and, if necessary, she had another source. A trust fund even her best friends didn’t know about. A trust fund Emma hated because her mother had had to die in order for Emma to have access to it.

But then…Emma let herself smile, because the whole situation was almost fitting, in a way. Her ever perfectly coiffed mother would be absolutely delighted to know that her legacy had gone toward a new wardrobe. In fact, if Annabeth Sinclair were here right now, she’d insist on dragging Emma to the makeup counter, and probably the hair salon.

A woman can never have too many lipsticks, girls.

Emma smiled at the memory.

“Hey, let’s stop by the cosmetics department at Bloomingdale’s,” Emma said as she followed them into the hallway. “I think I’m in a beauty rut.”

“Traitor,” Riley hissed.

Emma dropped her keys in her purse and ran straight into Grace’s back.

All three of her friends had skidded to a halt in the hallway, and Emma peered around them to see why.

She promptly felt her stomach drop to the floor.

Suddenly, Camille’s smirk on that day she’d offered Emma the apartment made a lot more sense.

This wasn’t about setting Emma up with Benedict. The blind date had merely been a red herring.

The real agenda was right in front of her.

In the form of Emma’s ex-fiancé. Who was with a woman.

“What are you doing here, Cassidy?” Julie asked, her voice half-horrified, half-amused.

Cassidy’s eyes locked on Emma’s for a half second, and she somehow knew the answer before he spoke.

“I live here,” he said, pointing to the door next to Camille’s. “I moved in last month. Camille never mentioned it? She was the one who connected me with the previous owner.”

“No,” Grace said, pressing her lips together in delight. “No, she did not.”

Emma barely heard any of this. Her brain was repeating one thought over and over: Alex Cassidy is going to be my neighbor for three months.

This was not good news.

At all.

But, incredibly, that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part wasn’t even that Cassidy’s fingers were casually linked with those of a pretty, shy-looking brunette.

No, the worst part was the brief pang of something Emma had long thought dead.

Jealousy.

Chapter 5

Of all the scenarios in which Alex had imagined his current woman meeting his past woman, this one was definitely not on the list.

In fact, in most of his scenarios, the encounter hadn’t happened at all.

Not because Alex hadn’t wanted Emma to see him with someone new. He hadn’t minded that part. And Emma had made it plenty clear that she didn’t care one way or another if he was single, married, or dead.

But in some foolish, sentimental part of his brain, Alex hadn’t wanted to see the two women together, side by side. Didn’t want to risk letting his mind make comparisons that he wasn’t ready for. Might not ever be ready for.

And, yet, here they were. Him. His new girlfriend. His girlfriend from almost a decade ago.

And three mischievous-looking Stiletto columnists.

“You ladies stop by to say good-bye to Camille?” Alex asked, careful not to repeat his earlier mistake of letting his eyes stray to Emma’s. Whenever he slipped up and made eye contact, it was always like a jolt to his system. An unwelcome and unpleasant one.