By the time I got home, my jeans were soaked to the knees.
Chicago was under a flash-flood warning, the rain was coming down sideways, and I had just walked almost half a mile from a public garage because my best friend had parked across my space again.
When I opened the door to my condo, Megan was sitting at my kitchen table with my fiancé.
They were trying to decide what to order for dessert.
Ryan looked up first.
“Jesus, Claire.”
He stood, grabbed a towel from the laundry room, and handed it to me.
Megan twisted around in her chair.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
She made that little embarrassed face I’d seen a hundred times.
“I was trying not to get too close to Ryan’s car. You know how bad I am at parking.”
I stood there dripping on the hardwood.
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