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“Oh boy,” Lucca mutters.

“Exactly,” Stella says. “So, it might be hard for Rosalie to believe that you could fall in love with her now.”

“She’s going to get her memory back.” My fingers fist in my lap.

And again, the table goes quiet.

“Maybe,” Fran finally says. “But it’s been almost seven months, and nothing. There’s no guarantee she will.”

I sit back in my patio chair, slumping into the seat. “I couldn’t lie to her. Not about that.”

Stella sniffs next to me, tears pooling in her eyes.

Before someone else can start crying, I stand. “I’ll be back.” I look at Callum. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Zev,” he grunts. “Stop asking. Go.”

He probably thinks I’m about to burst into tears, too. And maybe I would have a few months ago. What am I saying? I absolutely could right now. But I don’t plan to, I just need a minute alone.

I sit on the toilet in Fran and Callum’s guest bath and peer down at my phone. Rosalie is on the move. But I’m not sure where she’s going. It isn’t Monday, so no Sugar Pine Café. Wednesday is normally her library day. But it’s Saturday. Most Saturdays, she stays home. But she’s on Second Street. I’m not even sure what’s there besides construction. I zoom in on her location dot, waiting for her to stop. She does, but she’s literally near nothing. Maybe she’s having car trouble.

The thought, real or not, spurs me into action. Rushing out to the backyard, my friend’s chatter quiets at my sudden reappearance. “Hey⁠—”

“We have a plan,” Lucca says, interrupting me.

“Maybe a small Fourth of July get-together,” Maggie gives one shoulder a shrug.

“I don’t know, guys.” Fran clamps down on one lip. “I’m not sure she’s ready.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try. A low-pressure way to be introduced to all of us.” Stella’s holding her baby once more. She stands, rocking from side to side as the little girl snatches fistfuls of her hair. “And if she can see Zev there, all the better.”

“Uh—good plan,” I say. Though I’m not sure it is. It sounds like something that would overwhelm her. But then, I’m not the only one who misses her. “I have to go.”

“Zev,” Fran whines. She probably thinks I’m trying to escape the whole backyard impromptu intervention they’re having on my behalf. Actually, fleeing the intervention is just a bonus.

“I’m fine. I’ll see you all later. Let me know about the Fourth.”

I don’t have time to worry about a Lucca-harebrained idea right now. Rosalie might need me.

I follow the map on my location app all the way to Second Street—when I see it.

Chicago deep dish pizza. A food truck. Which is why it didn’t show up as an establishment on my app. The only other thing happening on this street is construction for something the city is building. It’s an entire block long, and the food truck has a perfect setup for all the workers.

I smirk. “She always loved pizza, but especially deep dish.”

There’s one picnic table and my girl sits at it, book in hand, waiting for her order. Pepperoni, olives, and banana peppers—every single time.

I’m feeling better and better about skipping out on my support session lunch at Callum’s. I march up to the truck and place my order. I glance back at her, other than the drilling, buzzing, and pounding of construction around us—it’s just the two of us.

“Zev?” Rosalie says, my name sounding like a chorus of angels on her lips.

I turn around to see her peering over at me from her picnic table. “Hey. You again,” I say.

“Yeah. You like this food truck, too?”

“Oh yeah, I love a good deep dish.” I pocket my change, then walk over to the table.

She grins, liking that I share a love for her favorite kind of pizza. “This truck is the only place in town with deep dish. It only comes through once a month.”