Page 4 of One Last Run

Maggie snorted. “I’m not like a Quiverfull person or whatever. Three kids aren’t that... Petra, I swear, if you don’t stop grimacing?—”

“What’s a Quiverfull person?” Izzy interrupted, walking in with three empty wine glasses and an uncorked bottle.

“I think it’s a weird religious thing, where you have fifteen kids like they’re arrows in your quiver to battle... Satan?” Maggie said, shrugging. “I’m unsure of the specifics.”

“Three kids doesn’t seem very battle-ready,” Pete said with a grin.

“Three kids are plenty for any kind of warfare. Currently the war is against their own personal demons, like kindergarten and broccoli,” Maggie said with the kind of smile that only a mother could have when talking about her kids.

“They’ll be shipshape for the Crusades any day, I’m sure.” Pete toasted her beer bottle.

“What about you? You were in Croatia?” Maggie asked.

Pete laughed. “Yeah, like a year ago. Since then, I’ve been in Portugal, Bali, and Mexico.”

“Forgive me for not keeping up,” Maggie deadpanned, and then glanced toward Izzy. “You went and visited her there, right?”

Izzy nodded. “It was gorgeous. Croatia. Who knew?”

“Anyone who has read Travel+Leisure in the past three years,” Kiera said, entering the great room and into the kitchen to grab herself a wine glass.

“No one reads magazines anymore,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes.

“I brought four just for this trip,” Kiera said, filling her glass with a hefty pour of wine. She tapped Maggie’s feet to get her to move them and give her a place to sit. Kiera had changed the most, in Pete’s opinion. Her short dark hair was curly, and her wire-framed glasses looked adorable on her round cheeks. She wore perfectly tailored jeans and smelled like she’d just bathed in lilac lotion. Pete found it nice that some things never changed about her old friends.

“Is Wendell feeling okay?” Pete asked.

Kiera nodded. “Yeah, I gave her a Zofran and she’s brushed her teeth four times. I think she’s planning to shower off the shame and be out soon.”

The mental image of Danica showering was not an unwelcome one, but it felt poorly timed, given she was in a room with other people. Danica in college had been gorgeous, funny, kind, driven, smart... all traits that Pete admired in her. Now, Danica was still stunning, but something was off about her. Maybe it had just been car sickness, but Pete couldn’t put her finger on it. She was a doctor now, so maybe she felt stressed about work? Her stomach tightened at the thought of Danica’s stupid fiancé, Eddie. A grown man whochoseto be called Eddie. Disturbing, to say the least. Did Danica really moan “Oh, Eddie” when they were in bed? Could an “Eddie” even make a woman moan?

“What’s got you all flushed?” Izzy asked her with a wry grin that seemed to suggest Pete had her thoughts written all over her face.

Pete raised her glass. “Telluride is at a much higher elevation, so alcohol hits you quicker.”

“Should we talk about dinner or groceries?” Danica asked, swooping into the room wearing a fuzzy, loose lounge set and no bra. No bra. She was holding a bag of thread and an embroidery hoop, like she planned to cross stitch as they all relaxed and caught up. “Did everyone get the color-coded spreadsheet I sent?”

“The one where we were all color-coded and responsible for one dinner of the trip?” Maggie asked. “Yeah, I… opened it. I think.”

Danica pressed her lips into a thin line of irritation, messing with the curtain bangs that kept falling into her eyes. “I thought that might be the case, so I already ordered delivery tonight. We can talk details over Pad Thai.” Pete watched her pull something out of her pocket while walking toward the mantle and realized that Danica was cleaning the remote control with a disinfecting wipe. Yep, she’s the one who always had small hand sanitizers in her purse for nights out, insisting on hand cleaning before late-night pizza after leaving a bar. Every group had to have that one friend who acted as the mom, ensuring everyone’s hygiene and sustenance. The irony wasn’t lost on Pete: their group mom, a NICU doctor constantly surrounded by infants, was childless.

“Someone’s feeling better,” Kiera said with a smile.

“I do apologize for Vomit-pocalypse 2.0 out there. Usually, my ginger chews do the trick, but...” Danica shrugged, offhandedly disinfecting the door handle to the patio beside her, before sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table.

“When was Vomit-pocalypse 1.0?” Maggie asked.

“The Mind Eraser roller coaster at Elitch’s. Junior year,” Kiera said, shaking her head and laughing as the other three all groaned with the remembrance.

“Unfortunately, my mind was never erased,” Danica said solemnly to a round of laughter.

The only updates Pete had heard about Danica had come from whatever passing information Izzy shared about the group. Izzy was the only person she’d stayed in touch with, because Izzy was the only one who respected that Pete sometimes just needed space. Pete had spent the last fifteen years building the Second Star foundation, her pride and joy. She’d started it after selling an app and a few fortuitous investments, but she’d had the right skills at the right time. Now, she spent her time traveling, exploring, meeting extraordinary people, and being the kind of light she’d needed when she was younger.

Danica, with her chestnut brown hair, so rich it almost looked red in certain lights. Danica, with those ocean blue eyes that could always see straight through all of Pete’s bullshit. Danica, with that damned oversized top that showed a bit of her collarbone and shoulder, hinting at the pale skin Pete knew extended everywhere, fair and soft. Danica, with no bra.

Had Danica’s bra succumbed to the car sickness, as well? Had it disintegrated in her suitcase?

“Izzy, I made sure to get you the vegan Pad Thai. Pete, I have no idea what you prefer these days.” Danica’s cheeks colored at the innuendo, a light rose brushstroke right under her eyes in a way that Pete found incredibly adorable.

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