Amber shook Martha’s hand and thought, to her own great dismay, no way is this woman meant for Micky. Not that, because of a simple handshake, a quick glance into each other’s eyes and the awkwardness that always comes with making a new acquaintance, she’d already concluded that she should be the one being set up with Martha, but something—call it a yogi’s intuition—told her that Micky and Martha would never be together. Besides, the mere fact that this entire dinner party was set up so Micky and Martha could get to know each other better was enough reason for Amber to stop that thought in its tracks there and then.

She would occupy herself with the food, giving Micky a hand where she could, helping her best friend navigate her first all-female, all-lesbian dinner party in her new house in Darlinghurst. That was the role Amber had given herself and the one she would stick to, no matter how many gorgeous women shook her hand and looked at her with eyes that reminded her of a passion she’d much rather forget about anyway.

“Amber, will you please sit down,” Micky said. She looked good in that dress. Amber hadn’t seen it on her in a long time. “I have two hands of my own that are very capable of pouring wine into glasses.” Micky shot her a smile. “I might even pour you some.”

Reluctantly, Amber did as she was told and held out the glass Micky had shoved into her hand. She’d have a little bit of wine, just for show. It was one of those evenings when she didn’t feel much like standing on the barricades preaching against the group’s overindulgence in alcohol consumption. Some nights, it was just easier to go with the flow.

From the corner of her eye, Amber snuck a glance at Martha again, who was already sipping from her wine. Maybe she was nervous and in need of some liquid courage. What had Sheryl told her? We’re all going to dinner at Micky’s. Things may happen. Knowing Sheryl and her brash ways, it must have been something like that.

Amber quickly averted her gaze and tried to tune into the conversation. Now that Micky was done pouring wine and had sat down with them, it was kind of hard not to feel like the fifth wheel. Kristin and Sheryl were here together and, if things went according to plan, perhaps Micky and Martha would end up together. Amber still couldn’t see it.

Perhaps because she had known Micky since they were six years old and she knew what the tiniest expression of her face and the smallest upward inflection in her voice meant. And she had seen the difference between Micky before Robin and after. Even though she was the one who had pushed Micky to give Martha a chance and to not go after someone who was not interested in a relationship anyway. As she sat there drinking wine and trying not to feel like that fifth wheel, now that Amber had actually met Martha, she simply couldn’t see it. Or maybe it was just her subconscious reminding her of the possibility of Micky and Robin again because she felt guilty about that fleeting thought she’d had when meeting Martha.

“What do you do, Amber?” Martha asked.

“Can’t you tell just by looking at her?” Micky jumped in. Amber couldn’t figure out whether she was trying to impress Martha or whether her nerves were making her a tad obnoxious.

Martha raked her gaze over Amber’s face, then lowered it and scrutinized her upper body. “I’m a Physics professor. I’m not very good at guessing people’s profession by how they look.” She shot Amber a smile. “It’s not really in my field of expertise.”

“I’m a yoga instructor,” Amber said. “Do you practice?”

“What with it being all the rage these days, I’ve tried it several times, but I could never get the hang of it. I’m sure it’s me, but I don’t have the right mindset to practice yoga,” Martha said.

“Then I can only assume you haven’t come across the right instructor for you yet,” Amber said. “I invite you to come to one of my classes and I will happily change your mind.”

Martha smiled at her, then cocked her head. “Such utter confidence. I like it.”

Amber smiled back briefly, then looked away from Martha, glanced at Micky, and felt so guilty for that short interaction between her and Martha that her stomach tied itself in knots.

“Can you give me a quick hand in the kitchen, please?” Micky asked.

“Sure.” Amber jumped up promptly.

Micky ushered her into the cramped utility room—probably because the open kitchen didn’t provide enough privacy. “What do you think of Martha?” Micky asked.

“She’s really nice. So interesting, well-spoken, and frankly, gorgeous. I say go for it!” Amber’s voice shot up.

“I thought you would say that.”

Amber couldn’t look her friend in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“Instead of giving her the yoga speech, you just invited her to one of your classes.” Micky’s voice sounded as if she was on to Amber. Of course she was.

“So?” Amber tried not to sound too defensive.

“In all the years since you’ve discovered yoga, I’ve never known you to not give the speech.”

“What are you insinuating?” Amber asked.

Micky took a breath. “You like her.”

“No, I don’t.” Amber was incapable of lying to anyone, but most of all to Micky.

“You were just summing up all her good qualities.”

“For you, just to tip you over the edge. She likes you, any fool can see that.”

A knock on the door startled them. “Everything okay in here?” Kristin asked. “You probably didn’t hear, Micky, but your doorbell just rang. Has the stripper arrived early?” she joked.

“What?” Panic rose in Micky’s voice. Amber understood. Her first thought was the children as well.

“Do you want me to get it?” Kristin asked.

“I’ll get it.” Amber quickly scooted out of the utility room. It only took her a few steps to reach the hallway, where she saw Robin standing in the doorway. Amber almost exhaled a sigh of relief. Micky might be more exhilarated than her to see Robin turning up at her door, but Amber was pretty glad to see her as well. If only to assuage her guilt after that impromptu interrogation by Micky earlier.

“I’ll get Micky,” she said to Robin and plastered a wide smile on her face.