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both naked, though under different circumstances.
    “How’re you?” Jenny asked as she moved alongside Layne.
    “I’ve been better,” Layne said with a sigh. “I’m still thinking about a flight home.”
    “This will be funny one day.” Jenny tried to keep a straight face. “Don’t let it ruin your vacation.”
    Easier said than done, Layne thought to herself as everyone climbed into the van. Until that morning, Stacy had been a delightful fantasy that Layne had ruminated on when she felt lonely. Unknowingly, Stacy had kept her company many a night and eased the feeling of loss and insignificance when Layne remembered how Stacy had looked at her. In the light of morning, she pushed thoughts of that affair away, believing that she would never cross paths with her fantasy lover again.

Chapter 5

    Stacy stared at the shoulder protruding from the front seat of the van. That was all she could see of the woman she now knew as Layne. She’d asked Alana about Chloe since she’d seen the Calloway pin on Chloe’s lapel that night, but Alana had claimed she didn’t know anyone by that name. And now, Stacy knew why—Chloe didn’t exist.
    Stacy and Layne had not discussed anything further than that night, but Stacy had hoped she might see her again. She was thoroughly disappointed when she woke up in that hotel room alone, and even more so when the Calloway lead ran dry. After her move to New Orleans and meeting Ronnie, she’d listen to Ronnie speak often about her closest friends. Stacy had never dreamed that the woman she’d let get away without even a phone number was the Layne who Ronnie was so fond of. As Stacy stared at the shoulder she’d kissed, her hatred for irony deepened.
    Irony was a cold-hearted bitch that reared her head at all the inopportune times, and this was certainly no exception. She liked Ronnie, but Chloe—or Layne rather—had made a mark on her. Before meeting Ronnie, Stacy had spent many a night mentally reliving each steamy kiss, each look, each stroke. Layne had unknowingly taken something from her that night, and Stacy wasn’t exactly sure what it was or even if she wanted it back. She had been left with more than memories—a sweet longing that she had come to accept would never be quenched, and as she looked at that shoulder, she knew for a fact that her fantasy of reconnecting someday would not come true in the way she dreamed.
    “So how did you two meet?” Molly asked, softly glancing nervously at the front of the van.
    She knows, Stacy thought to herself, and looked at the way Molly’s partner stared at her almost imploringly. They both know.
    “We met in a bar,” Ronnie said with a laugh. “Stacy just moved to New Orleans from Detroit.”
    “Detroit,” Molly repeated. “Are you from there originally? I’m not picking up on an accent.”
    “No, I was born in Baton Rouge and lived there until I graduated from LSU.”
    “She’s an artist,” Ronnie said proudly. “I haven’t seen any of her paintings yet, but her sketches are amazing.”
    “Amateur artist,” Stacy asserted quickly.
    Listening to the conversation, Layne closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the glass of the passenger window as she recalled the question Stacy had asked during their encounter.
    “What colors do you see when you close your eyes?”
    Layne had thought the question odd, but as Stacy kissed her way down Layne’s body, Layne closed her eyes and saw red.
    “Red is the color of passion,” Stacy said before she ran her tongue over the top of Layne’s thigh.
    “Layne, I understand you moved to a new place,” Ronnie said louder from the backseat.
    “She did,” Molly answered when Layne pretended not to hear, “right down the street from us. The house is adorable.”
    “I haven’t talked to her about Olivia,” Ronnie said softly. “Is she okay?”
    “She’s fine,” Jenny said with a nod, her gaze meeting Stacy’s for a millisecond before looking away.
    Ronnie turned to