“It has less constraints that would make the stool wobble.”

“English, please.”

“It’s the theory of the three-legged stool. Its power. Its strength. Its stability. Ideal governments strive for a three-legged-stool model because the foundation is solid.”

“You’re such a brainiac.” Cameron is a foodie by job and a philosopher by heart. “Why is it more solid?”

“Why do tripods have three legs instead of four?” He’s like a professor practicing the Socratic method.

“Why? Tell me why?”

Laughing, he answers, “Because it’s the ideal number for maximum stability, but not too many to make it wobble.”

“So Leo, Tripp, and I were better as a threesome than we’d have been as a foursome? Is that why we worked well even when Leo wasn’t involved with anyone?”

“That is indeed why.”

“What about when he had girlfriends?” I pause, reflecting back on those times. Truth be told, I didn’t see him as much then. “I guess we never hung out as much when he had girlfriends.”

“Because you hated them all.”

My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “Take it back. I did not hate any of them.”

“Fine. You simply didn’t think any of them were good enough for him.”

“They weren’t! No one was good enough for him.”

“I love that you’re the self-appointed arbiter of who is good enough for Leo.”

“I like Amy,” I admit, picturing the smart brunette I met once. “She was intelligent and sweet, and she seemed like she really cared about him.”

“And it hardly sounds like it pains you at all to admit that.”

I lift my chin as I march down the block. “She’s lovely, I’m sure.”

“Be sure to let him know she’s obtained the Lulu seal of approval.”

But something gnaws at me as I think of Leo’s woman, and it’s not about approval. It’s not even about her.

I wonder how Leo and I will be without him.

From the day I met Leo in the chocolate course, we were instant buddies. We had that repartee that reminded me of all my favorite sitcoms that my mom and I would watch, then analyze, then discuss. Only Mom could make commercial TV educational. Bless her heart.

Leo made me laugh, and then as we came to know each other, he made me think. He was patient, more introspective than Tripp. He was a quiet rainstorm at night, the kind that turned the air earthen and fresh the next morning.

Tripp was fire and lightning. He crackled and burned, a burst of bright, dangerous light across the sky.

The three of us clicked. I’d at last found my people. My mom and I had moved around so much when she went back to school, then for her master’s, that I’d never settled anywhere. I’d been forced to adapt, to make new friends every few years since I was a little kid.

With Tripp and Leo, I felt like I’d finally discovered friends I could have for a long time.

That’s what we were for a few months. A trio of buddies.

Until Tripp grabbed my arm after class one day, dragged a hand through his hair, and said, “I can’t take it anymore. Go out with me. Go out with me tonight.”

I said yes in a heartbeat.

On our first date, he took me to play boccie ball. As we played, he ordered a beer. Then another. He’d only had two by the end of the date, and that wasn’t a lot by any stretch.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and looking back, I can see clearly what I couldn’t see then—the first sign of a coming hurricane that I missed in the thunder and lightning of Tripp Hudson. Now, I try to be wiser, to use my peripheral vision more.

I turn the corner, looking up at the wooden sign written in proper English calligraphy. Even though I’m eager to see Leo, my chest squeezes and my pulse quickens. One of the legs in the three-legged stool is gone. I don’t have a clue how Leo and I will work without that vital support.

After all, no one makes two-legged stools.

As I head inside The Pub, I tell myself to focus on our friendship, not on Tripp and not on Amy.

I can’t think about how handsome Leo looks casually sitting at the bar, chatting with his friend. It would be wrong to think of him like that, especially since he’s involved. But my heart beats faster with relief when I see she’s not here.

It sighs ever-so-happily that he’s solo.

Then a dash of guilt chases me.

I choose to ignore it, sliding into my everything-is-fabulous mode, dropping a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Hey, you handsome thing.”

“Hello, you pretty creature.”

Then I squeeze Leo’s arm. “And hello to you, most amazing person.”

“Oh, please.”

I stare at him. “Seriously. You’re incredible. This opportunity with Heavenly is huge. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough. Drinks are on me.”

“Please don’t wear them. I’d hate for you to lose another dress.” He gestures to my striped dress. Green, yellow, and light blue. “By the way, your orange dress is at the cleaners. She thinks she can make it brand-new again.”

I throw my arms around him. “You are my hero a thousand times over now.”

He tenses briefly then hugs me back. When I extract myself, I turn to Dean, tapping my chin, thinking of what to order. “What should I get? We need something fabulous to celebrate.”

He narrows his chocolate-brown eyes. “I bet you want something pink and glittery.”

I love that Dean gives me a hard time. It’s part of our routine and has been since he and Leo became friends a couple years ago. “But pink and glittery drinks are so delish. Let’s be honest. You can make fun of piña coladas and strawberry daiquiris, but everyone secretly loves them. Leo, don’t you secretly love piña coladas?”

Leo shakes his head adamantly. “I despise them.”

“You’re only saying that to stay on Dean’s good side. You love piña coladas.”