Our arrival at Astral is uneventful, by some miracle. Mom gets credit for snagging us a private dining room, which lowers the risk of having our night captured by another restaurant patron and sold to the highest tabloid bidder or shared all over social media.

Sawyer and his parents and Carter and his mom are already seated when the host leads us into our dining room. Sawyer's eyes light up when he sees us, and he hurries to push his chair back and stand up.

"Welcome to L.A.!" he greets Hunter and Melanie, and then he hugs both of them. I'm thankful Sawyer and Hunter had more time to spend together when we were in Thunder Bay for my first show back since The Domino, and that it was under better circumstances than how they met at the music festival of doom.

Carter also gets up from the table, and Sawyer begins the introductions. "This is Carter, my boyfriend. And Carter, you know Hunter is Deni's boyfriend and can possibly recite everything about him from her nonstop talking about--"

I clear my throat to interrupt him, even though I'm aware he's just trying to get a good-natured rise out of me. "Excuse me, I do not talk nonstop about Hunter."

"Ummm..." Sawyer scrunches up his face. "Actually, you kind of do and it's super sweet."

"I can vouch for this," Mom chimes in.

"Mom!" Heat creeps up my neck, and my face is flaming. "No one told me dinner would be a tag-team mission to embarrass me."

"Ask me sometime about how much Hunter talks about you," Melanie says. "Paisley's favorite pastime these days is tormenting him about how much he does, after all the times he used to tease her for talking about Cayden Indigo."

"Thanks, Mom." Hunter looks up at the ceiling. "It must be a tag-team mission to embarrass both of us."

"Clearly." I turn to Sawyer again, who is grinning from ear to ear. "You're in so much trouble for starting this."

"Hey, I'm just being honest," he protests. I have to laugh at his innocent expression and the way he shrugs, with his palms facing up, as though he didn't have a clue what he was doing.

Once all of the introductions are finished, Hunter pulls out a chair for me and waits while I sit before taking the seat next to me. We've managed to snag one end of the table for him, me, Sawyer, and Carter, with the adults at the other end. The conversation on our side turns to a table read Carter has next week for a film he's been cast in, and before I know it, he's asking about days next month when Hunter will be back in L.A. for the awards show and inviting him and Paisley to the set.

I sit back and listen to the two of them talk, and Sawyer soon joins in. Their effortless chatter and the jokes that volley back and forth are like a symphony to my ears. I want to relish every second of this feeling, because the fact that my boyfriend, my best friend, and my best friend's boyfriend all get along and appear to be developing genuine friendships is the definition of happiness for me. Sawyer and Carter couldn't hide their concerns about Bowie for long back when they first learned we were dating, and they didn't even try to conceal their contempt for him as things deteriorated between us.

It's easy to see they like Hunter, and also that Hunter likes them. And as I sit at the table among our boisterous group, with us involved in our conversation and the parents engaged in theirs, I can't help but look forward to more nights like this once Hunter moves to L.A.

* * *

By the time we've finished dessert and are getting ready to leave, Carter has started a group text for the four of us.

"You're hanging out with us again before you go home," Sawyer tells Hunter as we follow our parents to the restaurant exit.

"Text us tomorrow." I give Sawyer a hug. "I'm not sure what Mom has planned for us yet, but I hope we'll see you."

I hug Carter next, and then the two of them walk ahead of Hunter and me toward the doors. I pause and place my hand against Hunter's back, signaling for him to wait here with me. There's something about the near-ethereal atmosphere where we're standing, with the ceiling that resembles a starry night sky and twinkling fairy lights strung along the walls. It transports me back in time to the summer night we confessed our feelings for one another under a starlit sky.

"Should we take a photo here?" I ask. No one is more surprised about me wanting to hang out in a public place and potentially attract attention to ourselves than I am, but I'm caught up in a moment. Nobody else is around, and we're obscured from view of the main dining room, which makes this the perfect opportunity. We also look pretty adorable, in my biased opinion. Both of us cleaned up nicely after our pool afternoon and got dressed up for the evening out.

Hunter pulls his phone from his pocket and angles it in front of us for a selfie. We take a few of them, including a couple with goofy poses, and then make our way outside to join everyone else.

I spot Mom and Melanie at the valet stand. The rest of our group is nowhere to be seen, so I assume the valet already brought their vehicles around and that we're still waiting. Hunter takes my hand before leading us down the stairs, toward our moms.

"Cay!"

I swear I miss a full heartbeat, and it's not for any reason that's good. I recognize the voice that called out my name. Hunter must recognize it, too, because his hand tenses up. Every muscle in my body does the same thing.

My options are to pretend I didn't hear Bowie, or to acknowledge him. It's hard to predict which action will result in the least damage to our previously peaceful evening.

Mom decides for me. "We're on our way out, Bowie. Enjoy your night."

Anyone who is well-acquainted with Mom is aware that when she speaks with the ice-cold tone she just used, it means to back off and walk away now. Bowie definitely knows this, and there's no chance he missed her unspoken warning. Even so, he emerges from the passenger side of a silver Porsche I don't recognize and walks in our direction.

I haven't seen him since the music festival. I don't know if I expected a change in him after the message he left for me when he was in the rehabilitation program, but he emits the same arrogance he started showing when drinking and drugs became a problem. His eyes aren't glassy tonight, so he probably is sober, but his steely glare sends a chill through me.

"You're looking lovely as always, Julia," he replies.

He steps closer to me, which is a risky move on his part given Mom and Hunter are here. They don't think kindly of him, and neither do I, and his last encounter with Hunter involved a physical altercation. Melanie's pursed lips tell me she's put the pieces together and is morphing into angry, protective mom mode. None of this deters Bowie.

"Look at you two, getting through the long distance and everything." His gaze lands on Hunter. "It's Hudson, right?"

My jaw clenches hard enough that someone would have to pry it open with a crowbar for me to be able to answer. I'm certain Bowie knows Hunter's name.

Hunter smirks at him. "Call me whatever you want to—it doesn't matter. You can't seem to get Deni's name right, either."

"That's cute. Do you always decide what nicknames your girlfriends can have?" Bowie casts a doubtful look my way. "It's a red flag, if you ask me."

"She didn't ask you."

Oh boy. For the first time today, I'm actually happy to have the moms chaperoning us. It might be the only thing that keeps this from escalating to a brawl.

"You speak for her, too. Those are some control issues, right there." Bowie walks forward again, getting within arm's reach of Hunter. It's a challenge, or an invitation to continue what they started at the music festival. I tighten my grip on Hunter's hand, silently pleading with him not to take the bait.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Mom says. Bowie ignores her and continues trying to stare Hunter down.

Mom's Range Rover pulls up to the curb at that moment and I send up a prayer of thanks to the universe and the valet driver for the timing. I pull Hunter toward it and scramble to open the door to the back seat. Forget being polite—I don't say a word of hello or goodbye to Bowie. I just want to get out of here.

"I hope rehab helped you with your substance abuse problem, because it hasn't done anything for your personality," Hunter calls over his shoulder. He helps me into the vehicle, and then slides in beside me, shutting the door before Bowie has a chance to respond.

Mom and Melanie get in, too, and no one says anything while Mom shifts the Range Rover out of park, checks the mirrors, and pulls away from the curb. We're a good mile down the Pacific Coast Highway before I find my voice.

"Can you turn on some music?" I request.

Mom does as I ask. She must have it set to a nineties station, since a Smashmouth song is what emerges from the speakers. We could be listening to screeching cats or Gregorian chants for all it matters. Anything is better than silence right now.

Hunter touches my arm. "Are you okay?"

I close my eyes. "I will be. I had visions of that turning into what I was told happened the last time."

Hunter's hand moves to my shoulder. He must feel that my muscles there are coiled tighter than springs, because he begins to knead them with his fingertips. I open my eyes again and turn my head so I can look at him.

"I wasn't going to fight him," he says. "Things got out of hand the last time because I lost it when he put you in danger, but this wasn't that. I wouldn't do that to you, and I promise I have much more control over my temper than what happened that day. I'm sorry if me running my mouth made you think it was going that way, or if it made you or anyone else here uncomfortable."

I have a hunch Mom and Melanie can hear our conversation over the music, but they're choosing to listen and let us talk without expressing their thoughts on what went down. Still, I wish Mom would speak up and tell Hunter what she said that day in the summer about how it was a shame she wasn't there to help him fight Bowie. Neither of us condones violence, but we also don't blame him for his reaction to what happened. I would have been tempted to take a swing at Bowie myself that day if I hadn't had a panic attack, fainted, and woken up in Sawyer's bus.

"You have nothing to apologize for. Not for anything that was said tonight, and not for what almost happened at the music festival." I bring my hand to Hunter's face and trace over his jawline with my index finger, not caring for once if the moms are sneaking glances in the rearview mirror to keep tabs on what's going on.

"You don't think I'm a walking red flag with control issues?"

"You're kidding, I hope." If he doesn't realize Bowie was projecting his own traits on to him, then I need to make this clear. "I think you're about a million green flags, if my opinion counts for anything."

"It counts for everything." Hunter's words are soft and are likely inaudible to anyone but me. I let my hand fall to my lap and scoot a couple of inches nearer to him so I can lean my head against his shoulder. He circles his arm around me, pulling me in close to him.

The Smashmouth song on the radio ends and one by Sugar Ray begins. Hunter and I grow quiet, but it's comfortable now. Mom and Melanie must take this as their cue to pick up the conversation and change the subject, because they're suddenly discussing summer concerts from their high school and college days, which apparently included both of them seeing Sugar Ray live and developing crushes on the band's lead singer.

"Can you imagine having a crush on a famous singer?" I poke Hunter in the ribs. "Who would want to deal with all of that? It sounds like a nightmare."

He chuckles at this. "Except for when it turns out to be a dream come true," he replies. "I wouldn't trade it for anything."

The subject of Bowie and what happened at Astral doesn't come up again during the rest of the ride home, and I plan to wish on every star I see that his name never has to come up again.