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time,” she retorted, surprising herself with the edge in her voice.
    “You’re right.” He took her hand. “I’m an asshole. I should visit more.”
    “Well, you’re here now,” Bea said quietly.
    “And you’re … happy about that?” He met her eye, not letting her duck the subtext.
    “Come on, Ray,” she demurred. “You know I am.”
    “So?” He moved his body against hers, giving her a little nudge. “What does a guy have to do to get the ten-cent tour around here?”
    “Oh my God, you’ve never been here before. How strange is that?”
    “Unbelievably strange.” He grinned. “Stranger than long-form improv in the basement of that chicken place on Sunset.”
    “They should have called it longest-night-of-our-lives-form improv,” Bea joked, and Ray laughed appreciatively. “Anyway, this is the living room. Do you like it?”
    Ray wandered through the cozy room, perusing the treasures from all Bea’s travels that crowded every available surface—a carved wooden elephant from Siem Reap, a hand-glazed vase from New Orleans, her laminated LACMA membership card. Ray picked up a glass figurine she’d found in Paris, turning it over in his hands.
    “You bought this in college, right—at that flea market you loved? You used to keep it on your desk at the agency.”
    “Good memory,” Bea said, her voice suddenly mottled with emotion.
    “This place is great.” Ray shook his head. “You should see our nightmare condo in Atlanta—everything shiny and new like a perfect little HGTV prison. Kind of a great metaphor when you think about it.”
    Bea wasn’t sure what to say to that—or if she was meant to say anything.
    “Um, do you want something to drink?” she ventured. “I have some rosé chilling.”
    “Sounds amazing.” Ray let his fingers brush against hers, and Bea realized that
this
was the idiocy—the idea that she had ever been remotely over him.
    Their plan was to head to a rooftop party at her friends’ loft downtown, but Ray wanted to shower first. So after their glass of wine, Bea waited on the couch, listening to the water run and dragging her mind forcibly away from visions of Ray’s naked body wrapped in one of the fluffy white towels she’d laid out for him. A shiver went up her spine—or maybe it was just the air conditioning kicking into overdrive.
    “I feel like a whole new human,” he remarked as he breezed into the living room.
    It was unfair—unholy, even—how good he looked in an easy pair of khaki shorts and a soft white linen button-down. Black hair, damp skin, like James fucking Bond climbing down from a yacht and wading ashore.
    “Plane grime,” Bea forced out, her voice an octave higher than normal. “The worst!”
    “You sure you want to go to this party?” He plopped down on the couch beside her, his arm casually leaning against hers—they were a little too still, like they’d both noticed the contact but had no idea what to do about it.
    “Oh, um,” Bea stumbled, “did you not want to go out?”
    Ray shrugged. “I dunno. We could just hang here. If you wanted.”
    Was he suggesting—what? Nothing? Anything?
Something?
    She had to get out of this house. Being here with him was making her paranoid, so desperate for his attention that she was reading imagined prurience into every harmless sentence.
    “My friends are expecting us.” She hopped off the couch and grabbed her phone to call a car. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
    “If you can brave the heat, I guess I can too,” Ray groused good-naturedly.
    Bea nearly exhaled audibly. He just wanted to avoid the heat! He didn’t want—
    Me.
She made herself finish the thought.
He didn’t want me.
    Well, good. He was engaged to another woman. Nothing could happen, even if he did want her. Which he didn’t, so. That was that.
    Bea hit the button to confirm her cab. Their driver would arrive in seven minutes.
    The party was just a touch on the wrong side of fun—everyone a little too drunk, a