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if the kids are climbing the walls from a sugar high, then they’re allowing mom and dad to review the contract, so we all win. Wall-climbing is in these days, you know. Even my local gym has a rock-climbing wall.”
    Laughter, crisis averted, Erik is Super Mediator like always. I relax and Boston’s scowl dissipates. We make some small talk that includes great, thanks, awesome, appreciate, and opportunity. Blah, blah. Now it’s time to go.
    Erik hugs me again. “I’m glad you’re doing well,” he murmurs. I stiffen, even as the words warm me, darting a glance at Boston.
    “You too,” I say.
    Boston turns. “I need to get back to my studio. You comin’ by later, Abby?” His voice is harder than before.
    “Yes. See you soon.” I smile.
    He walks out without a backward glance, and I look after him, blinking.
    Erik notices. “Are you having a thing with him?” His voice is curious, but not jealous.
    I shake my head. “No.”
    “No?”
    “I said no , Counselor.” I snap it out, then amend with, “We just met, Erik. And we’re from different worlds. I don’t think...” But I don’t know what it is that I don’t think, so I stop there.
    He shrugs. “But maybe a different world is what we need this go-around.” He swallows, looks away. “You know?”
    I shrug back. “Who knows what any of us need. You—you’re great, you know that?”
    He smiles. “You, too. Oh, that reminds me, my mom asked if red is still your favorite color.”
    “It is.” I grin. Erik’s mom is awesome, and if I were in the market for a new mom, she’d be head and shoulders above Marr in the “Abby’s New Mom” competition. She’s warm, smart, savvy, and utterly fun. Sometimes I think that the worst part of the breakup with Erik was losing that ready-made family, but his mom is making it clear that I’m still welcome in the Nyland fold.
    “So who’s this… Annalise?” Erik turns back to his desk, arranging papers.
    “I don’t know. Parker’s ex. She’s a model. Gorgeous. She’ll be great in pictures.” I shrug, feeling that weird mix of gratitude and excitement at the opportunity to have her in the book along with a distinct I-don’t-want-to-meet-her vibe.
    Erik’s voice is casual. “I, um, Googled her, when you said she’d be part of the project. Looks like she’s done some pretty cool stuff.”
    “Uh, huh.” I’ve Googled her, too.
    Erik turns back to me, smiles. “Sounds like a win for you all. I hope this project works out well.”
    “Thanks. Me, too.” Understatement of the year. Of my life . I’ve never wanted something more. If those people who write the self-help books are right, then I’m pretty much going to make my success materialize out of thin air with the force of my convictions, with the strength of my passion. And my quick fingers, typing out my best novel to date.
    Erik adds, “Hey, if you want, I can come by the studio and drop off the contract when it’s done. I’m curious to see how it all looks there. And, you know, meet your new coworkers.” He twirls his silver pen and drops it, fumbles to grab it from his desk.
    “Not necessary,” I tell him. “Besides, it will be busy the next few days. He’s going to be doing a lot of shots with Annalise and stuff, and it’s just as easy for me to swing by here next week. I’ll call you.”
    ***
    I’m at Boston’s studio, sitting in that window seat I admired, laptop open. Behind me, Boston is talking with two female models; he’s doing some girl/girl pictures for a lesbian romance cover by an author I know on Facebook. Small world. I wonder if she’d be excited or irritated if I messaged her something about how I’m seeing her cover live in progress even before she sees it, and decide not to, because we’re not that close.
    We did a quick introduction but now I’m back at work, distracted. They totally don’t mind that I’m here; Boston asked them ahead of time. They said they can concentrate just fine and won’t feel