Thirty minutes for bikinis and clothes?
Maybe she’s packing more.
Maybe girls just… take longer.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, staring at the building doors.
Then—
Movement.
A woman comes down the steps across the street.
High heels.
Little black dress.
Walking a tiny white poodle.
For half a second my brain snags on it.
I know her.
Don’t I?
The hair.
The walk.
Chloe?
Sage’s friend Chloe?
I met her once. At that rooftop thing.
But—
No.
That’s stupid.
This is Boston.
There are like ten thousand women who look like that.
I’m not about to start seeing ghosts.
Still…
I check the rearview a second longer than I mean to.
The woman disappears around the corner.
My stomach does that tiny, weird drop.
Then I shake my head.
Jesus, Ethan.
