Carolyn opens the door, takes one look at me, and screeches, “Q! Why didn’t you call for a ride?”

I burst out laughing—I can’t help it. This entire traveling experience has been so ridiculous that it’s the only one way to respond. Carolyn ushers me into the entryway of her apartment—now my apartment, too—and looks from me to my pantyhose-tied suitcase with her mouth hanging open.

“What the hell happened to you?” she says after my laughter has died out.

“Oh, Care,” I say, putting my hands to my forehead. “I landed at LaGuardia and got a cab, but the driver turned out to be a total psycho, so I made him let me out early. And then the suitcase got stuck in the street—”

“How?”

“That’s not even the worst thing! Some idiot in an SUV ran over it with his car!”

“And you didn’t call the police?” she interjects, her voice getting even louder.

“No!” I shout back at her, a tinge of hysteria in my voice. “I didn’t call anybody! I didn’t even get the cab driver’s name!”

“Oh, my God,” Carolyn says, before springing into action. “You can’t stand there in wet clothes. Come here. No, don’t worry about the carpet. Follow me.”

I stop only to peel off my shoes and socks, tucking the soaked pieces of fabric into the palm of one of my hands.

Carolyn leads me through the entry hallway and across the living room, then down another hallway, speaking as we go. “This is where the bedrooms are. Mine is down on the right, and yours is right here.” She opens a door, and I step into a second bedroom that’s easily twice as large as the master bedroom in my house in Colorado.

Yeah, Carolyn is loaded. It’s not like I’m a slouch in the money-making department, but I can’t touch the kind of trust fund that Care and the majority of her rich friends have.

I follow her across the plush carpeting of the bedroom that’s now mine. It smells freshly cleaned and the bed is already made up with a tasteful comforter and throw pillows. “You didn’t need to go to so much trouble,” I say, taking it all in.

“It was absolutely no trouble at all,” says Carolyn, a little formally, as if we didn’t live together for two years back when experimenting with frat boys was all the rage.

“No, really, Care,” I say as she precedes me into a large bathroom. The shower is glass-enclosed and fancy as hell with one of those rainwater shower heads. “It means a lot. Thank you.”

She smiles at me, and her whole face lights up. Carolyn is one of those people who comes off as sweet even when she’s acting tough. The heart can hardly handle it when she’s being her regular nice self. Then she gets another glimpse of my soaking clothes and gestures to the towels that hang from brass hooks on the wall near the shower.

“Towels are here,” she says. “My cleaning service keeps the bathrooms stocked with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but if you don’t like any of it, let me know and I’ll have them replace it with your brand. There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. I’ll get you some of my things to wear once you’re out.”

The tension of the day is leaving my shoulders, and I haven’t stepped into the shower yet.

Carolyn bustles toward the door, then turns back. “Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you having other clothes sent? Or was everything in your suitcase?”

I let out a little sigh. “I wasn’t going to send anything else.”

She nods once. “If you don’t mind—while you’re in here, I’ll separate the clothes and set them aside for the cleaner. We can shop tomorrow, if you want—there’s plenty of my stuff to borrow from in the meantime.”

“Fine by me. I always wanted to go on a New York City shopping spree.” This isn’t exactly true. I’ve never thought about going on a New York City shopping spree until this moment, but Carolyn brightens at the idea.

“Enjoy,” she says, then pulls the bathroom door shut behind her.

Thirty minutes later, I emerge clean and fresh, my hair dried and brushed out into shining dark waves. There’s a lot less tension on my scalp now that my hair isn’t twisted into a heavy bun.

Carolyn has stocked the closet in my bedroom with several outfits. On the bed, she laid out a plain pink tank with matching lounge pants.

She gets me.

I wander out into the living room to find her curled up on the couch, a mug of tea in her hand.

“You look nice,” she says when she sees me, then holds up the mug. “Want some?”

“I’m all right,” I say, then flop down across from her. Her air conditioning is running full-blast against the July heat, but there are soft blankets placed strategically on the arms of the couch and across the back. I pull one over my legs as Carolyn considers me.

“You’ve had a day,” she says finally, and I hear the invitation to talk in her voice.

“I’ve had a month.”

“Ugh,” Carolyn says, looking down. “I’m sorry about all that with Derek. That’s…awful. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“It’s—” A lump comes to my throat. The betrayal is still so fresh and raw. “He’s a dick. I’m better off without him.”

“You so are!” Carolyn looks back at me, then changes the subject. “Looks like New York City gave you quite the welcome.”

“It was not what I was expecting when I got on the plane this morning,” I say, then cover my eyes with my hands. “My suitcase got run over by a car! And the driver didn’t even stop! Tell me not everyone in New York City is that crazy.”

“Not everyone in New York City is that crazy.”

“Not if the cab driver is any indication.”

“What was his problem?” Carolyn stretches out her legs onto the matching ottoman. “I haven’t heard too many cab horror stories since I moved here. Then again—”

“Your friends have drivers?” I laugh at the thought of having a driver. Like Christian Pierce, the smoking hot guy in the tuxedo who appeared out of nowhere when my suitcase exploded. “I met a guy with a driver today.”

“Did you?” Carolyn’s brow wrinkles. “Where?”

“On the street corner. Wait. That doesn’t sound right.” We both laugh, and then I tell her the story of the man in the tuxedo rushing to my aid, only it was too late. I leave out the fact that looking into his eyes made my entire body heat up. I leave out the fact that when I turned away from him, I wanted to march right back and ask him for a date.

What was stopping you? The thought rises in the back of my mind, but I swat it away. Remember Derek? No way are you jumping headfirst into dating on your first day.

“—wearing a tux, Care,” I finish.

“Did you get his number?”

“No,” I say, then laugh. “No way. I am not on the market. I got his name though. Christian.”

“Christian Pierce?” Carolyn shrieks.

“Yes?” How the hell does she know him?

My friend laughs so hard tears come to the corners of her eyes.

“Carolyn, what—”

“Oh, my God, this is too much. Remember back in college, how we used to talk about our friends from school? You know who Jess is, but Chris—that’s short for Christian. Christian Pierce and I have been friends for a long time.”

It all hits me at once. Carolyn knows the mystery man with the stunning blue eyes. My guess is, they run in the same social circle.

The truth is that when I walked away from him, I thought I’d never see him again. Why would I run into a guy like that at work, or at my apartment? Why would I run into him in a city this big, when I’m a regular girl running away from Colorado?

Looks like the city got smaller.