“And do you have any hobbies? What kind of music do you listen to? How about boys? Any celebrity crushes? I just love Matthew Fox from the show Lost.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Josie Banks.” Monica flipped through some papers and smiled up at Josie. “You’ll be placed in an all-girls home until we find somewhere more permanent for you. There you’ll have access to grief counselors and lots of people who can help if you need anything. Maybe they can get you to open up and talk about your past a bit. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

The sweet, confused girl that Monica met eight years ago had grown into this cynical woman. While it saddened her, it wasn’t a surprise in the least. With the horrific things Josie had endured, Monica couldn’t fault her for any of it. Still, in the depths of her heart, hope hadn’t died for Monica Templeton. She still held firm to the belief that good things could happen for Josie.

Monica dug through her bag and placed a stack of papers on the table.

“Here,” she said. “I brought you some art school applications. It’s worth looking into, Josie. You’re so talented. You deserve to see where it could take you. Of course, you’d have to sober up first.”

Josie took the applications but did not look at them.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for formal education. I’ve been told I have a problem with authority.”

“Well, that’s true. If you keep tagging the entire city with graffiti, that could land you in jail. Now that is real authority and tacky orange jumpsuits.” Monica shuddered at the thought. “Did you have anything to do with that piece up on Fifth Avenue?”

Josie smiled.

“It’s beautiful, Josie. But that’s illegal. If they can nail you for enough damage, it becomes a felony.”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you take that energy and dedicate it to something legit?”

“What I do is fucking legit,” Josie growled, stomping across the small space and curling up into a ball on the end of her sofa.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Her loud declaration followed by nothing left an enormous weight of silence pressing down on them. It was a burden Josie would gladly endure. Monica, however, could not.

“How about the support group down at the community center? Have you been there lately? I hear the director’s quite a dreamboat. Oh, and he’s an art major at SDSU. I bet you two would have a lot in common.”

“No, Monica, I haven’t been down to the community center. I don’t want to listen to people talk about their terrible childhoods and compare it to mine. I don’t want their looks of pity. I get enough of that from you. And who the fuck uses the word ‘dreamboat’ anymore?” Josie said.

“Also, I don’t eat three meals a day. I get high whenever possible. I have sex with strangers, many strangers. I don’t exercise and I pick fights with drug dealers.” She paused, catching her breath before delivering the final blow. “Don’t you have an abused kid somewhere to save?”

Monica averted her watery eyes, picked up her purse, and left without waiting for an apology. She knew not to expect feelings of regret from the stone-cold girl. The words were wounding and her buttons were pressed. As much as she had tried to atone for her mistakes, Monica always suffered at the hands of Josie. She took it because she deserved it. Holding back tears as she ran down the steps, Monica fled from the first and last kid she had ever let down.

After such a long and gruesome day on the job, Monica found herself parked on a barstool, sipping a strong vodka tonic. Mellow music drifted through the room, adding to the ambient noise of conversation and clinking glass. The whole place was deep mahogany, as if it had grown out of the earth or had been carved out of one giant tree. With the wall sconces and pendant lighting, the top of the room glowed a rich, golden honey before fading into a chocolate floor. Monica felt warmed and at ease here.

She blew out a breath and pushed the negative energy from her lungs. For once, she was glad to be alone. She enjoyed the feeling of alcohol seeping into her blood, creating detachment from her job. It was days like this that had begun to wear on her positive attitude. No form of meditation could prepare or repair the angst she faced in Josie Banks. Josie had a way of draining the fight from Monica. Monica had a way of letting her.

A prickling chill ran down her spine as she felt another’s gaze upon her. In the stagnant air of the room, it felt as though a breeze had drifted across her skin, rousing her defeated spirit. Monica looked up from her melting ice cubes and found two stunning blue eyes looking back.

He was handsome with his wavy blond hair and broad shoulders. His tanned skin seemed to glow beneath the lights. His jeans looked soft and worn, in a natural way. In a prowling and unapologetic stride, he approached her, taking a seat on the next stool.

“Hi,” Monica said.

“Hello. Looks like you need another drink.”

His declarative statement and deep voice stirred a flutter in her stomach.

“Well, I don’t usually accept drinks from strangers.”

“My name’s Robin Nettles, but my friends call me Rob.”

“I’m Monica.”

“Well, darlin’, it seems we’re no longer strangers.”

Monica smiled and shook her head. His charming introduction and smooth Southern drawl left her feeling like an inexperienced schoolgirl with a crush. They fell into conversation easily, discussing sports allegiances and Rob’s recent move to the city, but never work. It was refreshing.

“Recap,” Rob said.

It was a game Monica had started to make sure he’d been listening to her rambling. She’d gone out with so many men who had perfected the smile-and-nod technique to deal with her incessant talking. Not one of them had ever really listened to her. After so much information, she would call for a recap. It was declared a test of attention spans and soberness. Rob passed every time and even took to testing her.

“You don’t know who Michael Kors is, you’ve never heard of sexting, and your favorite movie is The Getaway. Not the remake, the original 1972 film with Steve McQueen.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course I have. I’m a woman. We are famous multitaskers. I’m probably better at it than most. It may even be in my job description. Your turn.”

“Okay, let’s see. You’ve never been to Mississippi,” he said, frowning as he placed a hand over his heart as if wounded by the idea. “You love the smell of fingernail polish, your mother is an accountant, and your favorite place in the city is a tie between Sunset Cliffs and the Horton Plaza Mall.”

“I do declare, sir, you are correct,” Monica said using her best Southern accent.

“Well, ma’am, it’s a good thing you’re beautiful, because that accent was terrible.”

“What? It couldn’t be that bad. I’ve seen Gone with the Wind like a hundred times.”

“I believe the entire Confederate infantry just turned over in their graves.”

Monica laughed before emptying her glass. It felt amazing to have the attention of such a handsome man, and she wondered how she’d gotten so lucky. She flirted as best she could, touching his forearm to keep his attention and adjusting her cleavage discreetly. She’d been out of the dating game for a while, swearing off awkward meetings and cheap bastards for the past year. Somehow she knew coming out of retirement for this man would be worth it.

When he excused himself to use the restroom, she pulled out her compact and reapplied her vanilla-flavored gloss. She barely recognized her tired eyes as they stared back at her. While she still felt youthful, the tiny lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes gave her away. Perhaps if she didn’t worry so much, Monica thought, pulling taut the soft skin to smooth it out.