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“Thanks,” I say, accepting the drink with a grateful nod. With one satisfying sip, the tension melts away.
Harrison leans back against the counter, his eyes studying me over the rim of his glass. “So, what’s the story with the woman?”
I pause, caught off guard. “What woman?”
“The nice lady Snooks told me about. The one you were making, and I quote, ‘googly eyes’ at.”
I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. “Googly eyes? Obviously, Snooki-pie was deliriously ill. I’m a grown man.” I stand taller. “Grown men do not make googly eyes.”
“Not for just anyone. So, who is she?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Complicated?” He raises an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Try me.”
Relenting, I sigh. “Peach Pop.”
“Peach Pop?” Harrison’s interest is piqued as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass. “Who’s that?”
“Juliana Spenser. Jules to her friends. Ms. Spenser to me.” His eyes widen with intrigue. “She was at the restaurant tonight.”
“Snooks said she was beautiful. Like a princess.”
I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat as I search for the right way to say it. “Beautiful isn’t the half of it. I’ve been head over heels for that girl since high school. The problem is...I may have briefly dated her sister.”
Harrison winces, sucking in a breath. “Yikes.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, the guilt creeping back in. “I knew it was amistake. Especially when she stole and maxed out my first credit card. But I let it go on for way too long.”
“Why?” he asks, studying me as he waits for the rest.
But the truth is lodged so deep in my chest, it takes everything I have to pry it loose. I down the rest of my glass, the burn of the whiskey nothing compared to the ache of what I’m about to admit.
I force myself to say it out loud. Tell the truth for once. “To be close to Jules.”
For a long moment, we sit in silence; the only sound is the soft splash of whiskey as Harrison refills my glass.
He finally lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leans back. “So, you’ve got it bad for the baby sister, huh? So, when are you going to see her?”
I huff out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “If it’s up to her? About the time hell starts welcoming polar bears.”
Harrison raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he sets the bottle down. “And if you have your way?”
My wide grin answers for me.
Yawning,I jab the elevator button and slump against the wall, exhaustion setting in like a lead weight. Harrison and I spent the entire night chasing one irritatingly elusive ghost across the World Wide Web.
We scoured every corner of social media—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, even the depths of LinkedIn—and came up empty. It’s like she’s vanished into thin air. Or got abducted by aliens.
How the hell does anyone disappear in this day and age?
I even stalked her family, which felt a lot like prying. It reopened a door I’d closed so long ago, I’d forgotten it existed.
Angi’s still pouting for the camera, her Instagram wall packed with selfies. Not a single one with family—no surprise there.
Eomma’s account is a vibrant gallery of food and mystery books. I make a mental note to check out her latest recommendation—an intriguing suspense she swears by.
Her dad’s profile is practically untouched, with a few random memes tossed in—like a picture of him in sunglasses, holding a grill spatula, with the caption: “Grill master by day, meme master by night.”
