Elle loved the way her hair felt when it blew through the tranquil California breeze. The crisp scent of the ocean enveloped her in its serenity. Her left elbow rested on the leather interior of her brand-new convertible.

She’d once owned a convertible back in Chicago, where she had spent the majority of her life. In fact, Troy had encouraged her to buy that first convertible. They’d dated for a year in college after meeting and becoming friends in ninth grade. Attached to one another’s sides for most of their teen years, despite the fact that they bickered more than the average friends, they’d spent a few summers driving in Elle’s bright red Sebring, the top down, the Chicago wind destroying Elle’s hair no matter how she tried to avoid it.

When she first moved to Santa Monica, she’d refused to purchase anything that reminded her of him—including a vehicle in which they’d made so many memories. But when Follow the Sun was nominated for its first Emmys, and the producers renewed it for three more seasons, Elle was feeling unstoppable and she managed to forget about him briefly to purchase a brand-new silver Mercedes E-Class convertible.

Each time she slid into the warm leather seat, Elle ran her fingers up and down the cool steering wheel, and a small contented sigh left her lips. She was living the dream.

The twenty-five-minute drive to the studio in Los Angeles was easy and uneventful. When she reached the peach-colored booth at the entrance of the studio, Larry the attendant raised an inquisitive, yet playful, brow.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again tonight.”

“I guess I’m needed.” Elle shrugged.

“Have a piece of cake for me,” Larry replied, giving her a wink. His tan skin, worn and aged like leather, pulled at his cheeks with his smile. In contrast, his silver hair glistened from the top of his head.

“You too?” Elle asked, not completely surprised by the reach of Whitney’s sneaky planning.

“Afraid so.” Larry chuckled.

“I’ll bring you a slice on my way out. How’s that?”

Larry laughed again, raised the gate, and nodded. “Sounds great. Enjoy yourself, Ms. Riley.”

Whitney was waiting for Elle at her designated parking space. Her chocolate-brown curls were pulled up in a loose ponytail. Her nose was scrunched and her arms were crossed in front of her chest.

Elle was confused by her attitude. “What? Am I late?” She glanced at her watch.

“C’mon, let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.” Whitney opened the car door, allowing Elle to step out of the vehicle.

“Seriously, what’s the matter?” Elle was distracted by Whitney’s mood and couldn’t concentrate on the party until she knew her friend was all right.

“It’s nothing, I just—I hate that we have to trick you.”

“You mean about my birthday?”

“Yes,” Whitney snapped, slamming the door shut. “You’re thirty-five today. Thirty-freaking-five! You deserve a celebration and I wish you’d stop convincing yourself that you don’t.”

Elle nodded. She understood where Whitney was coming from. “Sorry.” Her shoulders sank. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, I, for one, am officially tired of it. I want you to live your life, Elle, not tiptoe through it.”

Uncomfortable with the frankness of the discussion, as she often was, Elle pressed two fingers into a salute, attempting to defuse the situation. “Sir, yes sir.”

Whitney’s pale cheeks turned red and Elle knew her best friend was ready to blow at any second. Whitney loved her and wanted her to be happy. She didn’t want to piss Elle off when there were at least twenty people upstairs waiting to celebrate the day she was born.

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I know you’re right. And I’m working on it, I promise.”

Whitney’s arms uncrossed, and she took a deep breath. “Okay, good.”

“Are we okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Whitney linked her arm through Elle’s. “We’re always okay.”

“Good. Because I am seriously in the mood for some cake.”

“That’s coming, but there’s a surprise first.”

“What is it?” Elle dug a finger into Whitney’s side.

“You’ll see.”

When they reached the large conference room, Elle was pleasantly surprised. No lights were turned off, no one hunched behind countertops and tables. Her cast and crew were mingling throughout the room, cocktails and plates in hand.

“Hey, happy birthday,” Rob said, wrapping one arm around Elle’s shoulder. “Did we get ya?”

Elle glanced at Whitney, raising one eyebrow. Whitney closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and nodded.

“You sure did,” Elle said, playing along.

Rob’s smile widened and his chest broadened. Elle couldn’t believe he actually thought she’d been duped. Did he not remember the phone call that took place less than an hour earlier?

Elle turned back to Whitney. “So you mentioned a surprise . . .” Her words trailed off, as she hoped Whitney would end the suspense.

Whitney guided Elle to a long table across the room. Elle thought she smelled marinara sauce. “Ah, yes, well, we have Gina to thank for that.”

“Gina?”

“She told me about this hole-in-the-wall restaurant ten minutes from here, and they specialize in . . .” Whitney stepped to the side, revealing the most delectable table of food Elle had ever seen.

“Chicago-style pizza?” Elle squealed, eyes wide. “Here in Los Angeles? How do I not know about this place?”

“Because it’s a dump,” Gina said, jumping into the conversation. “But it’s the real deal. It’s just as good as anything I’ve had in Chicago.”

Gina Romano had fully embraced her life and stardom in Los Angeles. Most people didn’t know she was a Midwestern girl just like Elle. She was raised in Milwaukee, but dropped out of high school to pursue a career in acting. After several cosmetics commercials, and two failed pilots, she’d been cast as the female lead in Follow the Sun. Since rising to stardom, she’d gone out of her way to distance herself from her Wisconsin upbringing, even hiring a dialect coach to assist her in abandoning her persistent Milwaukee accent.

“Here, let me get you a piece. Sausage and mushroom, right?” Whitney grinned, retrieving a spatula from the table and pushing into the steaming pie covered in thick tomato sauce. The spatula cut through layers of cheese and toppings until it made contact with the thick crust. Elle’s mouth began to water.

“My favorite,” she said as Whitney placed the dish in her hand before grabbing two glasses of red wine.

“Come, let’s sit.”

Elle cut into the hefty slice, steam spilling from the thick layers of mozzarella. She blew on the generous bite before placing it in her mouth. Her eyes closed as she took in the flavors. The flavors of home.

“This,” she said, licking her pink lips. “This was worth changing out of my yoga pants for.”

Whitney lit up, her smile genuine and proud. “I knew it would be.” She raised her glass. “To you, my friend. Happy birthday. I’m blessed to know you.” She glanced around the room, bustling with actors, cameramen, and makeup artists. “We all are.”

Elle placed her hand on Whitney’s wrist, her eyes misting. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ear and locked eyes with her best friend. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you.” She took another hearty bite, pushing away all the feelings of sadness that had gripped her heart earlier that evening. “And I seriously need the name of this place. This is freaking delicious.”

The ladies clinked their glasses together as Elle pondered all the ways in which she would change her attitude to improve her life. She was finished clinging to her past like she had planned to do that night. She was thirty-five now. It was time for her to enjoy the blessings of her life and she vowed to begin the very next day.