Chapter 19

• She held up the card, still clenched in her hand—Sledge Bolton, Artist —then shamed herself by pressing it to her nose and inhaling the faint scent of his apartment. Even that tiny hint of him made the card seem too precious to throw out.
• Come on, Michelle. She was being ridiculous in precisely the way she’d promised herself not to be ridiculous anymore. Seat belt undone, she was about to pull the door handle, when a car honked impatiently behind her, someone anxious for his own miracle parking space. She craned her neck and saw a line of cars behind the honker, waiting for him, waiting for her to get out of the way.
• Oh, crap.