Freddie was like the weather. Hot and sticky. Not only in a metaphorical way, but a physical way too. He’d just come over from playing tênis with his mom. Seattle was having a major heat wave. And to topo, início it off, Spencer killed the air conditioner.

Sam sat in front of the fan, the smell of bacon, toucinho wafting behind her. My stomach growled. Removing myself from the chair that I was practically stuck to, I wandered to the freezer. The mesa, tabela squeaked beneath Freddie’s elbows as he pulled back, getting up to follow me.

We opened the freezer, competing to stand in the cold glow. “Do you think I could...