I’m wading through no fewer than a hundred emails when my desk phone beeps, signaling a call from the front desk receptionist.

I press the speaker button. “Hi, Marybeth.”

“Hi Piper, you have a visitor.”

My eyes quickly glance over my calendar, but I don’t see any appointments noted. “Is it a salesman? If it is, I’m too busy to meet with someone today.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, who is it?” I ask with frustration. Did she forget her job is to find out the names of callers and visitors?

“Um, I’m not sure but he looks just like the guy from the band No Tomorrow. He’s in the lobby. Oh my Goddddd.”

My heart immediately starts to gallop. Blue is here.

“I’ll be right there.”

A million thoughts race through my mind as I walk down the corridor toward the lobby. It’s been two weeks since Blue and I parted at the hotel, and my wounds are still raw. I finally broke down and took two days off as mental health days, to attempt to catch up on weeks of no sleep and to spend extra time with Lyric. Today I feel slightly better. Or at least I did until Blue showed up unexpectedly.

But as I round the corner to the lobby, it’s not Blue waiting to see me at all.

It’s Reece.

“This is a surprise,” I say.

When I met him the night of the concert he looked the part of a grunge guitarist with messy greasy hair, a few days of facial hair, torn-up jeans, and an old band T-shirt. But today, he looks like he just stepped off a Hollywood movie set. His long dark hair is neatly tied back and a pair of aviators sit on the top of his head. A charcoal black Henley shirt stretches over the biggest biceps I’ve ever seen. He looks exotic and confident and rich. Most of all, he looks healthy and well-rested. A stark contrast to how exhausted Blue looked.

“Yeah, sorry to show up unannounced. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Of course. There’s a courtyard outside.”

“Perfect.”

“Is Blue okay?” I can’t fathom why his friend would be here, unless something terrible has happened, and I’m already queasy with worry.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s being Blue.”

“What does that mean?” I ask as we reach one of the picnic tables.

He leans against the table and grins down at me. “He’s pretty fucked up about everything.”

“Well, so am I.”

“Totally understandable.”

“Has he gone into rehab?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” I repeat. “He was doing heroin in the bathroom. Did he tell you that?”

“It’s not new, Piper. He’s had issues since high school.”

“I know. Which is why he should really be seeking professional help.”

“He will. He’s not ready yet. And I agree with you, he needs to get clean, but he has to want to. Otherwise, he’ll be doing this again in a few months. Just like he always does.”

That doesn’t sound promising at all.

“I don’t even know what to say. Do you do that stuff, too?”

“Me? Fuck no. I’m straight as an arrow.”

I shake my head and stare off down the street, toward the park that I can’t even bear to go to anymore because it’s a graveyard of memories.

“So why are you here?”

“He told me about the baby. And I wanted to talk to you about it… make sure you and the baby are okay.”

“Did he send you here?”

His head moves back and forth. “No. I came on my own. I found your information in his wallet.”

“You went through his wallet? That’s pretty invasive, don’t you think?”

“You think I care?”

“Apparently not. And she’s not a baby anymore, she’s almost five years old. Her name is Lyric.”

“I heard. He’s friggin’ in love with her name.”

“That’s great,” I say sarcastically. “Sadly, she doesn’t have his last name, because I had no idea what the hell it was. And trust me, I know that’s my fault because I’m obviously a terrible decision maker when it comes to men.”

“Nah. Blue’s just an odd dude. Always has been. And you can change her birth certificate, now that you know. It’s no big deal.”

The thought of changing my sweet little girl’s last name to that of the lead singer of a grunge rock band with a drug addiction scares the shit out of me.

“Maybe someday,” I reply. “When she’s old enough to understand, I’ll let her decide what she wants to do.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

This is awkward and uncomfortable and I’m sure my inbox is piling up as we speak, so I make a show of checking my watch. “I really should get back to work…”

“Are you a single mother, then?”

My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re not planning on asking me out, because I’m definitely not going there.”

He lets out a deep laugh. “I’d love to, sweetheart, but you’re off limits.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “What I was trying to ask is if you’re raising her alone? Do you need help? Daycare? Money? Any medical problems?”