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We stared at each other.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She pushed away from the door. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

“I did,” she responded with a proud smirk.

“When did you get your license?” I asked, finally approaching her.

“Last week.”

I wrapped her in a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I smirked when I felt her recoil in my arms. I tightened my hold.

“I did. You’re just shitty at texting back. Let me go.”

I released her and stepped back to take her in properly. She’d gotten taller since I’d last seen her a few months ago. She wore an oversized vintage Gray Legacy Records T-shirt over black leggings, furry boots, and enough gold jewelry around her neck and wrists to rival the Queen of Sheba.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbled.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say how much I look like her.”

“I wasn’t,” I lied.

“You were thinking it.”

“You have no proof, cowgirl.”

Danielle huffed. “Great. You’ve been in my presence for two minutes and are already annoying the shit out of me.”

I tilted my chin toward the SUV. “Where did that come from?”

“The same place you got your car from.”

A smile touched my lips. “Bo.”

“That’s right. Let’s go. We’re burning daylight,” she said, rounding the enormous SUV. I opened the passenger seat door and let out a low whistle, admiring the chocolate leather interior. “It’s nice, huh?” she boasted, running her hands over the leather steering wheel.

“Bo did not spare any expense,” I said, climbing into the vehicle.

I’d barely buckled myself in when Danielle floored it out of the parking lot. “Shit!” I yelped, reaching for the grab bar. For a second, I considered crossing myself, but figured I needed both hands to steady myself. “Danielle! Slow down!”

Lord, is this what Hart deals with when I’m behind the wheel? I owe this man an apology. Maybe a fruit basket.

“Why are you yelling?” she asked, adjusting the radio. The bass boomed throughout the truck, blasting a catchy song about men spending their cash.

My life, currently, but I won’t live much longer if my sister has anything to say about it.

“I’m yelling because you nearly swerved into a pedestrian.”

“There you go, being dramatic as usual.”

“You must’ve gotten your license from the Driving School of the Blind.”