“Admit it,” I finally say. “When you saw that Google alert, you almost drove out here to check on me.”

“I got as far as the end of the driveway before stopping myself,” Coop replies.

I don’t doubt him. It’s that kind of devotion that’s made me feel safe all these years.

“What changed your mind?”

“Knowing that you can take care of yourself.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“But I’m still concerned that Samantha Boyd has come out of hiding,” Coop says. “You have to admit, it’s startling.”

“You’re starting to sound like Jeff.”

“What’s she like? Is she—”

The first words I think of are the same ones Sam used this morning. Damaged goods. Instead, I say, “Normal? Considering what happened to her, she’s as normal as anyone can be.”

“But not as normal as you.”

I detect a smile in his voice. I imagine his blue eyes sparkling, which happens on the rare occasions he actually lets his guard down.

“Of course not,” I say. “I’m the queen of normalcy.”

“Well, Queen Quincy, what do you think about me coming into the city to meet Samantha? I’d like to get a read on her.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust her.” Coop softens his tone slightly, as if he knows he’s starting to sound too intense. “Not until I meet her myself. I want to make sure she’s not up to something.”

“She’s not,” I say. “Jeff’s already grilled her.”

“Well, I haven’t.”

“I’d hate to put you out like that.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Coop says. “I have the day off and the weather is nice. The leaves are starting to turn in the Poconos. Makes for a pretty drive.”

“Then sure,” I say. “How does noon sound?”

“Perfect.” Even though we’re on the phone, I know Coop is nodding. I can sense it. “The usual place.”

“Then it’s a date,” I say.

Coop grows serious again, his voice husky and low. “Just be careful until then. I know you think I’m being overly concerned, but I’m not. She’s a stranger, Quincy. One who experienced a whole lot of bad stuff. We don’t know if it messed her up. We don’t know what she’s capable of.”

I sit on the edge of the bathtub, knees pressed together, suddenly cold. Jonah Thompson’s voice flashes into my thoughts. It’s about Samantha Boyd. She’s lying to you. What a spineless asshole.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Coop. “I think you’ll like her.”

We say our goodbyes, Coop finishing up with his usual invitation to call or text if I need anything.

At the sink, I splash water onto my face and gargle with a hearty dose of mouthwash. I pout at my reflection, trying to look sexy, mentally preparing myself to pick up where Jeff and I left off. Despite Coop’s interruption, the desire I felt earlier is still very much intact. Perhaps even more so. I’m fully ready to jump back into bed and finish what I started with Jeff.

But when I exit the bathroom, I see that Jeff, tired of waiting and just plain tired, has fallen fast asleep.

Midnight finds my mind exhausted but my body wide awake. All that napping earlier in the afternoon has left me thrumming with energy. I shift and roll beneath the covers, too warm with them, too cold without them. Jeff has no such problem. He snores lightly beside me, lost to the world. Rather than remain in bed, I get up and change into jeans, T-shirt, and a cardigan. A little late-night baking feels in order. Old-fashioned apple dumplings. The next item on Quincy’s Sweets’ schedule, which has already been thrown off by a day.

I don’t get past the guest room. Sam’s room now, I suppose. A strip of light creeps from beneath the door, so I give it a single, tentative tap.

“It’s open,” Sam says.

I find her in the corner, rooting through the knapsack. She pulls out the earrings from Saks and tosses them onto the bed, their presence jarring my memory. I had forgotten all about them.

“I took the stuff out of your purse when you got home,” she tells me. “In case Jeff decided to look in there.”

“Thanks,” I say, staring glumly at the earrings. “I’m not sure I want them anymore.”

“I’ll take them.” Sam grabs the earrings off the bed and drops them back into the knapsack. “It’s not like we can return them. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I say. “But now I can’t sleep.”

“Sleeping’s not my strong suit, either.”

“Jeff told me about your talk earlier today,” I say. “And I’m happy. We’re happy. To have you here, I mean. Just yell if you need anything. Make yourself at home.”

Which she’s already done. A couple of books sit on the nightstand. Dog-eared science fiction paperbacks and a hardcover copy of The Art of War. Although the window is open, it can’t quite erase the cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Sam’s leather purse-slash-ashtray rests on the sill.

“I’m sorry I left you alone the rest of the day,” I say. “I hope you weren’t too bored.”