Page 222 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

The drive to Avery’s was less dignified than dinner.

That was mostly Quinn’s fault.

I had chosen to drive myself, which she liked more than I had expected. She said it made me look “alarmingly boyfriend-coded.” I’d disliked the phrase on principle until she leaned across the center console at a red light and kissed the corner of my jaw.

Then I reconsidered.

“You’re enjoying this,” I said, turning onto Ninth.

“You driving?”

“Yes.”

“I am. It’s very handsome and slightly threatening to the concept of chauffeurs.”

“My driver has other responsibilities.”

“Sure. But does he know you’re out here parallel parking like a man of the people?”

“I’m not parallel parking.”

“Coward,” she said with a grin.

The locket rested against her breastbone, rising and falling with her breath. Her dress had slipped slightly off one shoulder beneath her coat. The image made concentration a more complex task than traffic ordinarily required.

“Your thoughts are loud,” she said.

“My thoughts are private.”

“Not from your face.”

“My face has been unfairly maligned by you and Avery.”

“Because it tells on you.”

I turned down Avery’s block in and found parking.

We headed up the stairs to the door. Avery opened before we reached it.

She wore black joggers, a faded sweatshirt, and an expression that assessed Quinn’s hair, her locket, my face, and our proximity in less than two seconds.

“Gross,” she said.

Quinn hugged her. “Hi to you too.”

“You both look happy. It’s invasive.”

Max pushed between them and came straight to Quinn, tail wagging in slow, heavy sweeps. She dropped to her knees in her dress without hesitation and wrapped both arms around his neck.

“Hi, baby. Did you have a good night?”

Max pressed his head against her shoulder.

Avery looked at me. “He spent most of it judging my puppies and sleeping in front of the office heater.”

“Productive,” I said.

“He thinks so.”