Beneath the anger and self-pity, a part of Kate remained the soul of reason: in a pinch, thought she, even a yelling, honking, happily married former suitor in an F–150 could substitute for social life. She dusted herself off and, with studied nonchalance, sauntered over. Shading her eyes, Kate looked up. “Can I help you at all, Nicholas?” Whether from fury, embarrassment, sunburn or all three, Link’s face was positively crimson. “Kate! Get in! Something’s going on up Wycliffe Road!” Nicholas leaned across the cab and pushed opened the door. “C’mon! The more the merrier!” Kate climbed in. “Not another dog-flattening, I hope.” Nicholas looked blank. “Never mind,” Kate said. “In-joke. Speaking of merry, you don’t seem very, Nicholas.” “I’m not.” Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and pushed hard on the gas.
