Don’t worry, everything is going to be groovy and amazing.

Not my words—really, they aren’t. Something like that would never come from my mouth. It is the slogan for the natural foods restaurant Maggie insisted we try for lunch.

With Cam in New York City, I’ve had a lot more time on my hands and Maggie has been eating it up. Literally. One vegetarian restaurant after the other.

I push my spoon through my acai bowl, which per the menu is made with love. Truly it shouldn’t be that bad. Then again, I did ask for no chia seeds, no green foods powder, no spinach, and no anything I’d never heard of. That leaves me with a bowl of berries and yogurt. And how bad could that be, right? Again, it is made with love.

Maggie gives me a small smile as she sets down her wheatgrass shot and picks up her watermelon juice. “You should try this; it really is so good.”

Feigning gagging, I shake my head. “I tried it at that café we had dinner at the other night. No thank you.”

All this healthy eating is going to help me lose a few pounds. Not because of the nutritional elements, but because I’m simply eating less. Honestly, the food here in Laguna is taking some getting used to.

I squint my eyes and glance across the table. My contact lenses are dirty and need to be changed. Still, it doesn’t take clear vision to see something isn’t right. Maggie isn’t her normal chipper self. Whereas when we first sat down, I thought she might have been hung over, now I think she just looks sad. I hadn’t considered that option until right now.

In her white tank top, Maggie doesn’t have any qualms about the possibility she might drip pink juice down her shirt as she slurps through the extra-wide straw. I watch as she sets the cup down and then pushes her black bean burger around on her plate. She hasn’t even taken a bite. Now that is very unlike her.

“What’s going on?” I ask, scooping the yogurt into my mouth.

She gives me a little shrug. “I told Derek we were over last night.”

Not sure if I’m shocked or just surprised, I quickly swallow my food. “Oh Maggie, I thought things were going so well. What happened?”

She stares down at her plate. “They were. So well that, believe it or not, I told him I thought we should be exclusive.” She pauses a little and laughs. “And he told me he liked things the way they were—unlabeled. In other words, he wanted to keep fucking around.”

Her voice breaks, and I know the hugger needs a hug. Getting up, I round the table and circle my arms around her. “I’m sorry. That really stinks, but at least he was honest.”

Squeezing me back, she takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I could have kept seeing him, but it didn’t feel right anymore. I’m just so tired of sleeping with men who are sleeping with other women.”

Taking a seat, I look across the table at her. “Hold on, Mags—not to rain on your pity party, but isn’t that what you do all the time? Sleep with other men when seeing guys? That’s the definition of not putting a label on it, isn’t it?”

She heaves a heavy sigh. “Yes, I know, but I’m so tired of it. I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want to meet a nice guy, hang out, and have fun. You know, like you and Cam.”

I smile at that. “You can, Maggie. Guys are all over you all day long. You have to find one who is a match for you.”

“Yeah, I know. Much easier said than done.”

“That is very true.”

She laughs.

“What?”

“Look at you, giving me relationship advice.”

I pinch a berry from my bowl and drop it into my mouth. “Well, I am officially uptight free now that I finished the list.”

A napkin flies across the table at me. “Makayla, you were never uptight; it’s just how you saw yourself because of Sebastian.”

I could argue, but maybe she’s right. Being with Cam has allowed me to be more fun, be freer, and maybe, just maybe, be myself.

Finally, Maggie takes a bite of her cold, pushed-around-her-plate black bean burger. “Mmmm…this is so good. You have to try it,” she says.

Breakup blues are short-lived when it comes to Maggie and I think my job is done here. “No, I’m full,” I tell her, pushing my food aside. That was not yogurt, by the way. “I have to pick up Cam at the airport.”

Balling her napkin up, she tosses it on her plate. “Oh, that’s right—I almost forgot he’s coming home today.” She points to me. “I should have known, considering that dress has a hot factor of about a fifteen on a scale of one to ten.”

“This old thing,” I laugh.

“Liar! It’s new. I know my mother left it for you the other day when she dropped by and you weren’t around. It looks really good on you, by the way.”

I push my hair behind my ear. “Yes, so maybe it is a Simon Warren and new. I’m just really excited to see him and want to look good for him,” I admit.

While he’s been gone, we haven’t talked that much on the phone. He has been busy with his sister and mother. He did send some dirty text messages, though, and a few sweet ones, too. And like I thought, I have missed him.

Maggie suddenly claps her hands together. “Oh my God, this is perfect timing. Brooklyn asked me to cook him some curry and you guys can come too. I’ll even invite some other people. It will be like a dinner party.”

Okay, nothing about that sounds appetizing, from Maggie cooking to curry. “Hold on, Maggie, back up. Why are you cooking for Brooklyn?” I eye her suspiciously.

Her gaze roams as if searching for something, but then snaps back to mine. “Nothing like that. You know we’re just friends. He’s good-looking, but a little too young and way too assertive for me.”

I have to laugh. She definitely likes to rule the roost, so to say, and Brooklyn does seem to have some alpha tendencies. Besides she always goes for the easy going suits. Always.

“And he didn’t ask me to cook for him,” she goes on. “We were walking through the command center together the other day, and he saw someone eating a bowl of curried chickpeas in the break room from the Indian restaurant down the road and asked me what it tasted like. I couldn’t believe he’d never tried it, so I told him I’d make it for him.”

“But you don’t cook.”

“You know,” she says, her cup in her hand and her gaze focusing on the store attached to the restaurant, “I bet I can find everything I need here. If not, I’m done with work today anyway, so I have time to go to the Indian market.”

Determined as she is, there is no talking her down, so standing up to leave, I just go with it. “Groovy,” I tell her, taking my lead from the logo on the menu. “We’ll be there.”

Taking one last sip from her straw, she practically chokes on her laughter. “Far out,” she mocks and laughs even harder.

Uptight free now, I make the peace sign as I head toward the door.

“Those are rock horns,” she yells.

Oh, okay, so I need to study the hippie dialect a little more.

Still, I think I’m one cool kitten.

Or is it cat?

Yeah, it’s cat.

I’m one cool cat.

Right on.