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“There’s a little Mexican place, uh, it’s called Cielito Lindo.” And Henry has never once wanted to go there. He sneers at it whenever we pass, actually.

“Good, what are you wearing?”

“Pink shorts and a Demons T-shirt,” I admit sheepishly and can hear the smile through his voice. I went completely opposite to what Henry thinks a respectable person would wear, and pulled on the T-shirt before even deciding to call Hannah.

“Right on, my dude. I’m texting my buddy all of this now. His name is Joe, but everyone calls him Smitty, okay? He’s a good guy, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see if he can take you to get a new phone so you can communicate with Hannah before your flight, which leaves in three hours so there should be enough time.”

“Barry—” I start to protest.

“Do not start with me right now, Sullivan Westley Morris.”

I cringe instantly at the full name, but my face smooths on autopilot when I realize it’s . . . a good kind of grimacing?

Not flinching, not lowering my gaze, or . . .

This is good.

It’s already good.

The voice comes back the second I spot Barry’s buddy.

And I only recognize him because I realize I’ve seen his smiling face plastered all over this city.

Easily six and a half feet tall, built like a tank and wearing long basketball shorts, an indecently flimsy tank, and very worn flip flops.

Fucking slob, is that what you want in a man? Someone who can’t even dress properly?

“Hi, man. I’m Smitty, you Sunny?” he asks. His smile is wide and blinding, though remembering the billboards, I know he’s taming it down for my sake.

“Yes. Barry⁠—”

I startle when he barks out a laugh, as loud as you’d expect from someone so big.

“Man, it’s weird when people call him by his name.”

I try to offer a normal smile, but I’m sure I haven’t hit the mark when he sobers up and reaches into his pocket, offering me an unopened box.

I take it and balk.

“Please tell me you didn’t⁠—”

“Hey, man, I got sent two of those last month.” He holds his palm up. “The missus hates this brand but I love it, so you can take it off my hands.”

“Take it off—” I start out, honestly offended, but he just takes two steps and picks up my two full-to-the-brim suitcases as if they weigh nothing and walks away.

“Come on, you can argue with me in the car while you set it up so your sis stops worrying, yeah? We got a flight to catch.”

I feel like I’m one step closer to being myself when we get to the airport.

“Joe,” I try to argue once a-fucking-gain, but the petulant pout he aims at me has me pivoting because I do understand preferring your nickname over your actual name—obviously. “Smitty, please, for all that’s holy, stop. I do not need you to pay for this, I can⁠—”

“Nessy told me he’d pay me back, okay? And you can pay him back. But there’s no way you’re leaving one of your suitcases here.”

My brand new phone, finally set up and working thanks to Smitty, vibrates with a call on top of the check-in counter. Smitty answers for me and puts the call on speakerphone, but I speak before he can.