Like shit-they-do-in-the-movies tough.

It was on the same level as hacking into Las Vegas’s traffic system in five seconds, pulling someone up from quicksand using only one arm, or jumping through a glass window. I bet if I tried that last one, I’d just bounce back with a loud thump.

But I can’t bounce back, and I don’t have a clue how to move forward.

In the morning, I rise before dawn, hoping to run off this pandemonium of thoughts and banging cymbals in my head.

I circle the reservoir, trying to drain my brain of last night, of Lulu, of all the things I want to say to her.

As I near the end of my run, a familiar set of footsteps roars by.

Squeals.

Stops.

“Yo!” It’s Noah. “Hey, slowpoke.”

“Hey, cheetah.”

“I’m breaking through all my land speed records. Also, I owe you a big, huge, massive thank you. I knew you were the man.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“Your brilliant, genius, insanely awesome advice to ask out Ginny.”

I arch a brow. “She said yes?”

“She let me buy her pretzels. And they were the best pretzels under the sun. It’s a start, right? Gotta start somewhere.”

That is true.

That is very true.

In fact, maybe that’s my new rule to live by.

Start somewhere.

“Whatever it takes to get the girl, right?” he adds with a wave as he takes off to the other side of the world, flying on those Mercury legs.

Taking action.

Making a start.

And the commotion in my head clears instantly.

I don’t need to take a back seat this time.

After a little googling upon my return home, I know what I want to say to the woman I was in love with for the better part of a decade.

You have to start somewhere.

23LULU

Kickboxing with my friends always clears my head. I’ve never been a solo exerciser. I like the company and the chatter. I like the girl power, and I instruct Mariana not to mention men at all.

She gives a thumbs-up. “Man-diet morning. Got it. I vow to only discuss frivolous things to keep your mind off whatever man is driving you crazy.”

“You’re a true friend.”

At six in the morning, Mariana and I sweat our way through a killer class that elevates my heart rate to skyscraper levels. We speak in our exercise shorthand, the cardio reducing us to quick, bullet-like sentences as I tell her briefly about Heavenly, how the new line has started to come together over the last few weeks, the flavors I’m trying, as well as the hunt.

When we hit the cool-down phase, I can breathe and talk more normally. “Plus, business at the shop is strong. I can’t really complain about anything, so, ya know, I won’t,” I say as I stretch.

“Considering my newest client just paid me an obscene retainer, I won’t complain either. But I did donate ten percent of it to Little Friends, the local animal rescue.”

“Whoa. Did they erect a statue of you in front of the shelter? Because for ten percent, they should.”

Mariana laughs. “Nope. But that’s my goal. Someday, somewhere, I’d like a statue erected. Mostly because statues are one of the few times you can say ‘erect’ without getting the side-eye.”

I give her the side-eye. “I think that’s one of those words that always deserves a side-eye.”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Yes, it does. Also, I won the bet.”

“What bet?”

“I bet Cameron that you’d try to wear the pantsuit. He bet you wouldn’t even take it from my house. I know you so well.”

I jam my elbow into her side.

“Ouch.”

“You set me up!”

“I know, but you asking me for a suit was the most absurd thing you’ve ever done, and you’ve done some absurd things.”

“Like what? Name one.”

“Like the time you wanted to attend a circus class.”

“I still want to learn to juggle.”

That sends us down a rabbit hole discussion of circus skills we’d most want to possess—she picks fire-eating and I choose trapeze.

But in the end, Mariana tells me she’s glad I chose chocolate. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of your sweet caramel center,” she says with a wink.