“Everything’s fine. My battery is dead, but Galen bought me a charger to keep over here, so it’s charging.”

“How sweet of him,” she says, knowing good and well she instructed him to do so. “Well, just wanted to check in. Should I wait up for you? I don’t appreciate you missing curfew the last few nights. Technically, staying over there until four in the morning is a coed sleepover, which I don’t allow, or had you forgotten? Your trip to Florida with Galen’s family was a special circumstance.”

“I stayed the night at Chloe’s all the time with JJ there.” JJ is Chloe’s eight-year-old brother. Not a great comeback, but it will have to do.

“You know what I mean, Emma,” she snaps.

“Why are you so grouchy? And why are you home early again?”

“I don’t know. I’m tired, I guess. Listen, I noticed you haven’t brought your swimsuit home yet. I hope you’re not still getting in the water. It’s too cold for swimming, Emma.”

I do my own laundry. Digging around in my drawers is the only way she could have “noticed” anything missing. Does she also look for condoms or other incriminating evidence moms usually scavenge for? Does she come home to scavenge? The thought tickles my temper. Making a mental note to buy a new bathing suit strictly for Galen’s house, I say, “You’re telling me this? You know how cold-natured I am.” My laugh is loud enough to be suspicious, but Mom doesn’t seem to notice. Rachel smirks though.

“Don’t try to tell me you and Galen haven’t figured out how to stay warm in the water.”

“Mom!”

“Just promise you won’t get in the water,” she says, her voice tight again. “I don’t need you getting sick.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“And be home before dawn this time. I dare you to bring home anything less than an A on your report card after this. I double dog dare you.”

I mouth the words into the phone as she says them; you’d think she’d at least change the wording after all these years. It’s her go-to threat for just about everything. But somehow, it doesn’t work this time. There’s no bluster behind it. She’s getting soft lately, and I think it has to do with the night I accused her of adopting me. “Okay. Before dawn.”

“Good night, sweetie. I love you.”

“Loveyoutoo, good night.”

I hang up the phone and hand it back to Rachel, who exchanges it for a mug of hot chocolate with three gargantuan marshmallows floating on top. “Thanks,” I tell her, shuffling to the kitchen behind her.

Rayna is sitting at the table, pulling enough polish, clippers, and buffers out of her kit to open her own nail salon. “I know I said I wanted the French kind, but I really like this color,” she says, holding up a cantaloupe shade.

Rachel shakes her head. “That’ll look tourist tacky against your olive skin, honey bunches.”

Hoping to get a different opinion, Rayna jiggles the bottle at me. I shake my head. Pouting, she slams it on the table, then dumps the entire contents of the kit on top of it. “Well, is there any color that would look good?”

I take the seat next to her. “What’s Toraf’s favorite color?”

She shrugs. “Whatever I tell him it is.”

I raise a brow at her. “Don’t know, huh?”

She crosses her arms. “Who cares anyway? We’re not painting his toenails.”

“I think what’s she’s trying to say, honey bunches, is that maybe you should paint your nails his favorite color, to show him you’re thinking about him,” Rachel says, seasoning her words with tact.

Rayna sets her chin. “Emma doesn’t paint her nails Galen’s favorite color.”

Startled that Galen has a favorite color and I don’t know it, I say, “Uh, well, he doesn’t like nail polish.” That is to say, he’s never mentioned it before.

When a brilliant smile lights up her whole face, I know I’ve been busted. “You don’t know his favorite color!” she says, actually pointing at me.

“Yes, I do,” I say, searching Rachel’s face for the answer. She shrugs.

Rayna’s smirk is the epitome of I know something you don’t know. Smacking it off her face is my first reflex, but I hold back, as I always do, because of the kiss I shared with Toraf and the way it hurt her. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that same expression she had on the beach, and I feel like fungus, even though she deserved it at the time.

Refusing to fold, I eye the buffet of nail polish scattered before me. Letting my fingers roam over the bottles, I shop the paints, hoping one of them stands out to me. To save my life, I can’t think of any one color he wears more often. He doesn’t have a favorite sport, so team colors are a no-go. Rachel picked his cars for him, so that’s no help either. Biting my lip, I decide on an ocean blue.

“Emma! Now I’m just ashamed of myself,” he says from the doorway. “How could you not know my favorite color?”

Startled, I drop the bottle back on the table. Since he’s back so soon, I have to assume he didn’t find what or who he wanted—and that he didn’t hunt them for very long. Toraf materializes behind him, but Galen’s shoulders are too broad to allow them both to stand in the doorway. Clearing my throat, I say, “I was just moving that bottle to get to the color I wanted.”

Rayna is all but doing a victory dance with her eyes. “Which is?” she asks, full of vicious glee. Toraf pushes past Galen and plops down next to his tiny mate. She leans into him, eager for his kiss. “I missed you,” she whispers.