“Tell me, Miss Owens, will you be staying for the fireworks tonight? Helping us celebrate the Fourth?” the announcer asked, and handed her the mike.

“I sure will, Mr. Wilson. I can’t wait to celebrate our nation’s birthday with my family, and hopefully some old friends, here in my hometown!” Julie crowed, and the crowd cheered along with her and the rest of the Little Miss minions.

“Oh, for the love of—” Lucas rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to leave?” I asked in a low voice, leaning in so the rest of his family couldn’t hear.

He gave me a tight smile, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Besides, I promised you fireworks.”

When he tucked me tight into his side, I let him. And we watched his ex-fiancée crown Little Miss Ah, Forget It.

And then came the fireworks. But the ones in the sky were dwarfed by what I now refer to as Big Dumb Mean Julie Fudging with My Fourth of July.

If I’d left my fiancé standing at the altar, which technically I did not do, and then came back into town unexpectedly, I would not deliberately seek out said fiancé and try to explain why I did what I did in front of his family.

If I ever ran into Charles and the rest of the Sappington clan, I’d be gracious, keep the chitchat to a minimum, and be on my way as fast as possible to minimize the emotional damage on either side. But you’re darn tootin’ that the first time I see Charles, it will not be in public. I’ll make sure it’s on our own terms, with us both coming to the table to talk and yell and scream in privacy.

Not how Little Miss Mattress Giant rolls. No, she made eye contact with Lucas during the pageant, and it was all she could do to stay on the stage, practically foaming at the mouth to get to him.

After she placed a crown on the new Little Miss, she thanked the crowd, did a weird little curtsy-wave, and practically steamrolled through the crowd to get to Lucas. He kept his arm firmly around my shoulders. For not dating, our shoulders sure seemed to be getting some play. Nevertheless, I stayed.

“Lucas!” she cried out, running through the crowd like she was auditioning for a Nicholas Sparks movie. And for the record, Julie Owens was beautiful. Tall and curvy, with long blond hair and bouncing boobs. She was your All-American California Girl. I’d been told I was the All-American California Girl. But where I got comparisons to Christie Brinkley, she’d be better compared to Pamela Anderson.

I hated her on sight. She might be the nicest person in the world, but she’d hurt him, so I hated her. And she was now hugging Lucas, with her bouncing boobies, so I hated her.

There were so many other sets of angry eyes on her I almost felt bad for the girl. But, bouncing boobies. So, yeah, no.

The incredulity continued when she flung herself, actually flung herself, into his arms, catching Lucas so off guard that he damn near fell over, recovering only at the last second. “Um,” he managed, his arms full of bouncing.

“Pretty sure you meant to say what the fuck,” Sophia said, her mouth, along with everyone else’s, hanging open.

“I’m so glad to see you! I’m sorry I didn’t call and let you know I was coming home, but it happened so fast, I thought I’d surprise you!” She giggled, still trying to snuggle into his arms as he began to pry off the bouncing.

“It’s a surprise, all right,” he muttered, finally getting her off of him. “Julie, what did you think I’d—”

“Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, good to see you! How are you?” she cooed, turning to them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his mother said, and I smothered a laugh. “Chloe, dear, we’ll see you later, okay? Call me; we’ll have lunch and talk about getting this therapy program set up.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, shot her son a clear warning look, and tugged her husband away.

“Good luck, son. Chloe, so glad you could join us tonight,” he called out.

Which caused Julie to finally look at me. I tried to stifle the insane bubble of laughter that threatened to erupt.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, tilting her head to the side and studying me carefully. “You are . . .?”

I looked to Lucas to make the introduction, but he was too flummoxed. I couldn’t blame him. “I’m Chloe Patterson.” I did not offer my hand.

“I’m Julie, but you probably know that already. I saw you all watching the crowning, wasn’t it fun? When they asked me to come, I just couldn’t say no. I’ve done pageants all my life, and even though I haven’t held a title or worn a crown in ages, it’s just something I can never quite leave behind, you know?” she rambled.

I arched an eyebrow exactly as my mother might and said wryly, “I can imagine.”

“Chloe was Miss Golden State.” Sophia came next to me, slipping her arm through mine. “Sort of makes your Little Miss Crap Show look a little ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Here we go,” Neil said.

“Sophia, nice to see you. Slumming it in our little hometown, are we? I thought you never left San Fran?” Julie asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Slumming it? Yeah, this”—Sophia gestured to the beautiful bay, covered in sailboats bobbing in the moonlight, the bandstand covered in red, white, and blue bunting, the carnival midway glowing with thousands of twinkling lights—“is really slumming it.”

Julie shrugged her shoulders, dismissing her. Dismissing everyone, in fact, stepping back to Lucas and gazing adoringly up at him. “I came to see you, silly. Think we could talk? Besides, I need a ride home.”

Lucas was seriously smart—not just with books, but with actual street brains. He knew better; he’d never fall for—

“Uh. Sure. Yeah. I . . . yeah. Chlo?” Lucas said, looking over her shoulder at me.

“What! I mean—wait, what?” I asked, trying to cross my arms. I couldn’t actually manage it, because I was holding an enormous pink teddy bear.

“C’mere a minute,” he asked, backing away from his family a bit.

I did, leaving Sophia and Julie discussing which part of Julie’s ass Sophia should kick, and how far Julie could shove a cello bow up Sophia’s nose. I was betting on Sophia. We headed a little ways away, to the edge of the sandy beach. I could feel the grains spilling into my sandals as I sank a bit. Chilly. I shivered—not totally because of the chilly sand.

“Chloe, how pissed would you be if I took her home?”