The woman’s practically falling apart, and it’s only noon!

“Is something wrong, Riley?”, I ask, “Or is there something wrong with me?”

She shakes her head before moving in for a wet and tearful hug. “Everything’ll be okay, Lex!” she sobs, “You’re probably still jet-lagged or whatever, that’s all.”

Clearly, whoever put her up to this secret didn’t anticipate the woman having so much trouble keeping her story straight. I suppose Alexa’s mess of a mane makes for a good sponge, though. And judging from Riley’s embrace, she hasn’t had another shoulder to cry on since whatever this is began.

But if she can’t give me an honest answer, I’ll have to meet her where she is.