I shoot him a withering glare. Who is he to talk? “And you’re drawn to sweethearts? Angels? Mother Teresas?”

He stares at the ceiling as if in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure about sweethearts, but I’m positive I’ve never dated Mother Teresa.”

I lean across the table to swat his shoulder. “You have definitely dated douches too. Oh, wait. You haven’t dated anyone long enough for them to measure on the douche-meter.”

He arches a brow. “I beg your pardon. I have absolutely hit the crazy-ex floor in the department store of love.”

I laugh as we clear our plates and head for the door. “Have you now?”

“Do I need to remind you of Hazel?”

No. He doesn’t.

I can picture perfectly the day I saved his ass.

6OLIVER

Two years ago

This was getting to be a problem—the morning ambush.

Warily, I walked to the window, pulled back the blinds, and peered down to the street. Cars, cabs, and buses rushed along the avenue, and I held onto the fervent hope that I might be able to leave my own building unscathed.

Then I caught a glimpse of red.

Fucking hell.

Hazel was there, lying in wait.

With tea.

I didn’t even like tea.

Who decided that all Englishmen liked tea and scones, lived in castles, and followed football?

Well, scones were delicious.

I pulled back from the window, grabbed my phone, and called in a favor.

“She’s here again,” I whispered, even though whispering was unnecessary. But it felt necessary. “Are you nearby? You’re probably on a run, right?”

On the other end of the call, Summer breathed out hard. “Just finished five miles. I’m on the east side of the park. I can be there in ten. Want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on it,” she said, knowing the situation well and knowing the solution too.

“You’re a superhero.”

“I am. It’s true.”

I grabbed a tie and slipped it around my neck, knotted it, and pulled on my suit jacket. I had to get to work without my ex pouncing on me and asking me to get back together with her. Never mind that she was hardly an ex. She was a woman I’d dated for a mere two weeks. After I ended it on account of a massive lack of sparks—and not at all because she wanted to attend a cheese-making class, even though I hate trendy thing-making classes—she decided to try to woo me back by waiting outside my building with tea from my favorite coffee shop.

She’d done this four days in a row. Today was the fifth.

Returning to the window, I watched the street below. On the dot, Summer walked into view, holding a paper cup. She spotted Hazel and, with a smile, headed over to the redhead, exchanged a few words, then continued into the lobby.

Hazel cast a glance upward, but she’d never been inside my building, so she didn’t know which floor was mine.

Her shoulders sagged, and she walked away.

I punched the air as my doorbell rang.

Summer looked quite pleased with herself, and quite pleasant in her running shorts and purple sneakers, her blonde hair high in a ponytail. Her cheeks were red, her skin flushed from running. Would other activities bring that same pink glow to her face?

To the exposed flesh above her sports bra?

To . . .

Quickly, I dismissed the freight train of dirty thoughts, because I had to.

Also, because . . . coffee.

She thrust a cup into my hand. “Coffee. Just the way you like it.” She took a beat, pausing before delivering our oft-said punchline, “Without tea.”

“Superhero indeed,” I said, taking the drink then motioning with my free hand for her to tell me what went down.

Squaring her shoulders, she flicked an unseen piece of lint off her Lycra top. “Call me Super Friend. Able to deflect clingy exes in a single bound. As soon as I saw her, I walked over, said a cheery good morning, then eyed her two cups of tea with friendly concern.”

“And?”

“And then I said, ‘By the way, if that’s for Oliver, he doesn’t care for tea. Go figure. But that’s my boyfriend for you.’”

I beamed as she continued. “Then I trotted inside, said hi to the doorman, and left her to tuck her tail between her legs. She did tuck her tail, right?”

“Totally tucked. Saw it when I peeked out the window.”

Summer blew on her fingernails. “Yay, me.”

“Thank you for your excellent service,” I said.

“It was easy. No doubt you’ll need me again for the next crazy ex-girlfriend.”

We left my building a minute later, finding Hazel across the street waiting for the bus.

When she spotted me walking next to Summer, I immediately grabbed Summer’s hand, threaded our fingers tightly together, and dropped a quick kiss onto her cheek.

Her breath hitched, and she whispered a surprised oh. A sexy-sounding oh. One that had the freight train starting to chug out of the station again.