Remembering Sunday

Prologue

Cole

There has got to be some kind of rule against doing this.

Relationship to the family, being too close to the situation, something. Anything I can use to get myself out of the mess I’ve found myself in.

We know this is a trying time for you, Cole. We appreciate you making the time to see us.

The trying time he’s talking about is my Uncle John’s death. The uncle I’ve seen maybe six times over the last fifteen years, but the same one that saw fit to have it written into his will that I take over the family business.

Private Investigation.

What the Alexander men do best.

It started with my grandfather, passed down to my father, and when he passed on after a heart attack at the age of fifty-five, had fallen to John until he took the red eye to the sky a few months ago.

Leaving all of his open cases piled in my lap, of which Xander Grayson is one.

The reason for that being that seventeen years ago, when I was eight and she was eighteen months old, my best friend Luke’s sister was taken and hasn’t been seen since.

At first, the family left it in the hands of the police department, but after years of that wielding less than stellar results, they’d taken it to my dad. When his relentless searching seemed to get nowhere, he passed it on to John.

From that point on, John Alexander made it his life’s mission to find this little girl. And now, in the midst of my supposed grief, because he came up empty, it’s up to me to do the same.

Another thing he made sure to take care of in his will.

I had to bring Sunday Grayson home.

How the hell I’m supposed to do what he spent the better part of a decade trying and failing at is beyond me, but now that I’m here and as loyal as always, I’ve got to at least try.

It’s okay, Xander. I’m just not sure what else I can tell you that you haven’t already gone over with John before he died.

The reason we were so adamant that we speak to you is because Allison thinks she may have found something.

What kind of something?

Allison Grayson chooses that moment to enter the room. Her hands tightly gripping a silver tray, complete with three mugs of what I hope is some strong coffee. After the way last night ended, nothing else will suffice.

Sitting in a dark apartment with only a forty of Jack Daniels to keep you company while you attempt to drink away memories, well, it never ends well.

Lesson learned.

Placing the tray down onto the table, she slips into the spot beside her husband on the sofa and with a quick glance between them, turns her attention to me.

Waiting for her to speak, I grab one of the mugs from the tray and adding three spoons of sugar, lean back and drain the mug dry as she speaks.

Being so close to us over the years, I’m sure you’re already aware, but when Sunday was born we took precautions. Our insurance company at the time was working hand in hand with the police on a program designed to help parents keep their kids safe. We received a package in the mail in which we could take a lock of her hair, a prick of her blood for typing and all of her personal details at the time. Sunday being so young, we knew that a lot of the details would change over time, but the DNA from her hair and her blood wouldn’t.

As thankful as I am for the explanation of how proactive they were in terms of their children, she’s right. This is all information I’ve heard before. Having stayed in contact with Luke all these years, he’d been the one to tell me all of this right before my dad passed away. What I need now is less story and more details I can actually work with.

What does that have to do with what you found?

Despite the case remaining open, the police in recent years haven’t been as vigilant as we would like them to be. They’ve apparently lost hope along with a lot of the general populace. Except for one officer. It was in speaking to him yesterday that we obtained new information.

Allison is right. As the years passed with not so much as a bread crumb to follow that may have led to Sunday being alive, the police department had all but given up. It comes with the territory. But her admission that there was one officer still actively involved is new. The news that he may have stumbled across new information even more so.

What new information, Allie?

According to Officer Bradley, there was an admission to a hospital in Alliston that matches Sunday’s aged description and whose blood work appears to be a match.

Now this is something I can work with.

If you’ve been in contact with the police why bring me in?

I assumed by now that would be obvious, Cole. Xander speaks up, placing his hand tenderly on his wife’s knee in an effort to take back control of the conversation. Sunday has been missing for seventeen years. Not once in that time were the police able to do anything or get us closer to an end result. The same could be said for Samuel and then John, but at least with them, they were family. We trusted them. The same way we trust you.

When Samuel Alexander plucked me out of the foster home I was wasting away in and brought me back here, Luke Grayson was the first person I’d met. With a mutual love of hockey, it wasn’t long before we were practically living at each other’s houses. Xander calling us family is accurate. Luke was the brother I was never lucky enough to have. His family became almost as important as my own.

I still remember the day they brought Sunday home from the hospital and how insane Luke was about showing her off. Giving me countless warnings before I was allowed to touch her. Treating her like some precious piece of glass that would shatter the second I made contact.

I can also still remember the way she looked at me that day. A look that in the seventeen years since still haunts me.

What is it you want me to do?

We want you to do what you’ve always done. Nose around and find out who this girl is. Get close and find out if it’s our Sunday.

My uncanny ability to be a nosy asshole aside, I’m not sure how comfortable I feel stepping on local PD’s toes. This is still considered an open missing persons investigation even though based on protocol it should have been closed years ago. Strolling in and forcing their hand is only going to cause shit that if we want to find Sunday, we don’t need.

Not to be a buzzkill, but do you really think it’s smart for me to throw myself into an ongoing investigation?

It’s what Sam and John would have done. Xander responds and there’s no argument I can mount because he’s right.

It’s the code of the PI. They can get the shit done that the police can’t because doors that normally won’t be cracked for a uniform, open easily for a guy in a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. A guy looking for information about a girl that once upon a time he cared pretty deeply about.

We just want to know if there’s anything to this, Cole. Allison explains, leaning across the table that separates us until she’s placing her hand on mine. This is our little girl. Our Sunday.

God damnit.

Why did John have to leave me the business when he died? Why didn’t he reach out to his own son and made him take this on?

I never wanted this. If anything I’ve spent the last seventeen years trying to escape it. It might have been a losing battle considering I was helping them on cases when they were both alive, but it’s still not what I wanted for my life.

Except you did want to bring Sunday home.

Shit. I’ve got no argument I can give here. I did want that. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. For myself and for Luke and his family.

I may be a son of a bitch to the rest of the world, but when it comes to family, I’m as loyal as a Saint Bernard. They’re always going to come first and with the way I feel about this family, it’s pretty obvious what way this is gonna go too.

I’ll look into it, but guys; I can’t promise anything. This could end up being another false lead. I don’t want you getting your hopes up.

We won’t. At least no more than we already have. Like Allison said, we just want answers. And if there’s anyone besides John that can get them for us, it’s you, Cole.

Their faith in my ability is overwhelming. It’s almost impossible to live up to. Right now with what they’re asking me to do, it’s like I’m their personal savior and I’m weighed down by the pressure that being that brings.

I don’t want to be the one that comes back here in a few days and destroys the one bit of hope they’ve had in the last seventeen years. I can’t lose the only family I’ve got left.

Are you going to be able to handle it if this turns out to be nothing and we’re right back where we started?

Yes. They both answer simultaneously and with a curt nod of my head, placing the mug back on the tray, I lift myself from the chair. Waiting as both of them follow suit and Xander holds his hand out between us for me to take.

Gripping his hand tight we shake and the request from my Uncle John’s will is brought to fruition. What I’ve been putting off since he died, I now have to face head on.

It’s time to find Sunday Grayson and bring her back where she belongs.

Even if it turns out to be the last thing she wants.

Chapter One

Reagan

I can’t believe I did it again!

Throwing back the comforter, I slip out of the bed and seeing the time flashing its bright red warning at me—the result of hitting snooze seven consecutive times in a row and not once getting up the way I was supposed to—I make a beeline for the door and the solace a hot shower will give me.

Slamming straight into the brick wall known as my brother Jake.

Where’s the fire? he jokes as I push my way past him, cursing under my breath before diving into the shared bathroom. Nice talking to you too, Reagan!

This is the second time this week I’ve done this. Spent half the night tossing and turning. Deciding at the last minute to read until I pass out and then sleeping past the alarm when I finally do reach the bliss that comes from sleeping soundly.

Making quick work of the shorts and baby tee that qualify as my pajamas, I turn the water on and step in, welcoming the warmth the second it hits my body and the relaxation that follows.

It’s only when I’ve successfully washed off the night before and am sliding back the curtain in order to step out that I feel the draft from the door as it opens and my mother steps in. A knowing smile crawling across her face as I grab a towel, wrap it around myself and step out. After a few seconds of silence between us as we both share the mirror, she breaks the silence by laughing.

Let me guess. You’re gonna need a ride to work?

If you could that would be great.

Meet me downstairs in five and you’ve got yourself a deal. She says, placing a soft kiss to the top of my dripping hair and making her way back out.

It’s only after she’s left and I’ve turned back to the mirror, going through the motions of brushing my teeth and running the brush rough and quick through my hair that I’m struck again by just how different I am from her.

Taking how different we look entirely out of it, my mother hasn’t been late for a job or appointment in her life. If anything, she’s the one that’s got everything planned down to the letter and is ten minutes early. Proving what an asset she is. Where I’m leaning more toward the liability end. The woman that even knowing she’s got to drive to the opposite side of town to drop her daughter off at work, still walks around with a smile.

Nothing fazes Katherine Carter.

Not even me.

It’s just further proof that when the stork was dropping babies off the night I was born, he dropped me at the wrong house.

Securing the towel around me, I open the door and slip out, padding my still wet feet across the carpet as quickly as I can manage until all that’s left behind me as I shut my door is the footprints left behind.

Grabbing my work clothes off the hanger in my closet, I make quick work of getting dressed and with one final brush through my unruly mane of brown hair, I head out, hitting the front door at the exact moment my mom does.

Ready?

As I’ll ever be.

How much time do we have this time?

Looking down at my arm and seeing it bare, I grab my purse off the hook at the door and slip my phone out, turning it toward her to show her the time.

Five minutes and counting.

You’re gonna be late.

I know. I’d rather it be a few minutes late than the hour I would be if I took the bus, though. So let’s go.

Following her out the door and along the gravel path that leads to where her car is parked in the driveway, I use the time to take her in.

Short blonde hair in the form of a pixie cut, make up covering her face done immaculately as always. Her blue eyes the complete polar opposite of my brown ones, but the perfect match for my dad’s light green ones. Her six foot frame giant compared to mine.

Reminding me again of just how different I am.

Hearing the click from the automatic lock, I slide myself into the passenger seat as she makes her way around to the back, throwing in her briefcase before sliding in beside me.

What made you oversleep this time? she asks as she starts the car and proceeds to pull out onto our street. It wasn’t Walker was it?

Eww. The last thing I want to talk about before I’ve had my morning coffee is anything to do with Walker Matthews.

The guy that thought it was completely okay to screw around with other girls while his clueless girlfriend sat at home believing she was his one and only.

Walker is the last person that would be keeping me awake.

No, but it was a guy.

Even from her position staring out the windshield as she’s driving, I can see her eyes raise and a smile cross her face.

Is this a guy I know or someone you have yet to tell me about?

You don’t know him. He’s actually dating this other girl right now. It’s only a matter of time before he dumps her for me, though.

This gets her attention as her head does an Exorcist style swivel around to me. Seeing the way her eyes bug out, I stop trying to contain myself and laugh.

It’s a book, Mom. I fell asleep with a book boyfriend.

As long as it’s not Fabio, I think I can handle a book boyfriend or two.

Fabi-who?

Never mind. She laughs as her eyes fall to the rearview mirror before hitting her blinker and pulling into the right lane.

Driving the rest of the way in silence, she speaks again when she’s pulled into the bank parking lot and pulled the car to a stop, my seatbelt already off and ready to make what I hope isn’t my last walk through the bank.

Have a good day at work, honey. I love you.

I haven’t wanted to say anything before, but with it happening again now, it’s becoming impossible to shove down and ignore completely.

Ever since I fell getting off the bus last month and spent the night in the hospital because of suspected damage to my head, she’s given me the same strange look when she tells me she loves me.

Her eyes glaze over first and then the tears appear.

She’s never been closed off or unaffectionate before, so I’m sure I’m reading into it, but I can’t really figure out a reason for her to be acting like this. There was no permanent damage from the fall. She can clearly see that, so this makes no sense.

Mom, is everything alright?

Of course it is. Why do you ask?

I don’t know. You just look sad. Is everything alright with you and Dad?

Your father and I are as happy as we were the day we got married. Maybe even as happy as we were the day we had you and Jake.

Okay well, if it’s not dad, is it something else?

She smiles softly before reaching out and running her fingers through my hair, her eyes locked on it, almost as if all the answers to my questions can be found in the fly away strands now wrapped in her hand.

Everything is fine, Reagan. Sometimes I just forget that you’re not my little girl anymore and when I open my mouth to speak, the emotion takes over.

I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that, but since it’s as good an excuse as I can allow with how late I am, it’s gonna have to do.

Leaning over and giving her a quick hug, I flash her a smile, saying my final piece before getting out of the car and heading for the bank.

I’m always gonna be your little girl, Mom.

Cole

Come on, Frank. How many times have I done things for you without asking for anything in return?

I knew it was going to be a long shot, but before I went behind their back, I thought it only fair I do my best trying to their face first. Helping my dad and John over the years when they weren’t able to get around, I’d managed to earn a few contacts within the police department. Frank Greavey being one of them and my best bet at getting the information I’m after.

More times than I can shake a stick at, Cole, but if anyone gets wind of me helping you, it’s not your ass on the line.

All I want is an address. One simple street name and number and I’m out of your hair. Never to bother you again.

Why don’t I believe that?

Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that I’m lying through my teeth. First chance I get, I’ll be back here bugging the piss out of him for information on an unrelated case and he knows it as well as I do.

I can deny the business all I want, but there’s no denying it’s what I do best.

No one needs to know where I got the information. Come on, man. You know you wanna do it.

Fine, he concedes as he grabs the pad and pen. Scribbling out the address for Reagan Carter, the girl Allison and Xander believe is Sunday. But you didn’t get it from me, you hear?

Didn’t get what from who? I ask and when Frank finally settles enough to laugh, I smile. Thanks, Frank. You’re a lifesaver.

Slipping the paper from under his hand as he passes it over, I pocket it and make my way out of the station. Only stopping to inspect it when I’m safely tucked away in my car and away from prying eyes.

Where I expect to find the girl’s home address, I’m surprised to see Frank went ahead and did me one better. Not only can I do a drive by her house, but I can also do the same at her place of employment.

Looks like it’s time for the part of the job I hate the most.

Surveillance.

Sitting around and waiting for the target to leave whatever place it is they have themselves stashed away in so you can catch a glimpse. Attempting to interact with them when you’re finally given the opportunity. Drinking disgusting amounts of coffee and trying to pretend that I’m not a stalker.

It’s worse this time around though.

When I pull out of here, it’s not just some random person I’m going to head off in search of. This isn’t a Joe Schmo that took off and is trying to keep his identity a secret.

This is my best friend’s sister.

If there’s one thing I learned growing up with Samuel Alexander; it’s that blood doesn’t lie. And with what I learned from the hospital earlier after slinging them a bullshit story I’m hoping won’t come back to bite me later, I’m in possession of a report that backs up that lesson.

A smoking gun.

Reagan Carter based on the blood work is Sunday Grayson, and once I get visual confirmation, I’m officially going to be the bastard that blows her world apart.

Reagan

When you’re as solitary as I am, you’ll have these lulls in your day where no one is at your counter, and you can just watch the people moving about around you.

When I first got the job as a teller with FNB—First National Bank—I did a lot of people watching. And by a lot, I mean, I sat around when I wasn’t serving a customer and made up mini stories in my head of the lives they would lead when they walked out and back into what I deemed the real world.

It’s been awhile since I’ve done it. The majority of my days lately so busy because of the end of the month that I can barely get a second alone to use the bathroom—let alone a break to watch people. With the lack of people in line now though, it’s exactly what I’m doing. The object of my storytelling abilities this time being a guy that looks as though he stepped right out of the book I fell asleep reading last night.

Day old stubble lines his face, along with matching dark shadows under his eyes, speaking to an extreme level of insomnia that only an all-nighter with a woman or an evening long drinking binge can create. It’s not those things that jumps out at me most though. His eyes do that.

Light blue orbs that the lights above his head only seem to accentuate. Adding that to the shortness of his jagged cut brown hair—looking a lot like someone who just rolled out of bed, and it’s a miracle my jaw isn’t needing to be picked off the floor.

Almost two years of working here and not once in that time have I come across someone that looks quite like him.

I might be pathetically single and destined to live my life as a spinster because of my lack of game when it comes to going out and picking up men, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good looking guy. Even if he does look like he’s in desperate need of sleep and judging by the scowl on his face wants to be anywhere but where he is right now.

Trying to gauge his height based on the way he’s lounging and putting him at around six feet, I don’t even realize I’m not alone until the person beside me clears their throat.

Startled away from my dissection, I turn and am face to face with my best friend Bethany. The only other person on the planet that looks as mesmerized in the moment as I do.

I see you’ve noticed Mister Hottie.

Laughing at the absurdity of the name, but unable to disagree with the assessment, I just shake my head and pretend to busy myself with the papers in front of me. Maybe if I fake it long enough, Bethany will actually take the hint and get back to work before our boss notices our ogling and decides to call us on it.

He made that much of an impression that he earned a name?

They all earn names, Reagan. I’m surprised hanging out with me as long as you have, you’re just now figuring it out.

Two years we’ve been best friends and despite knowing the way she is, I still hold out hope she’ll do things differently. Read my mind and just do what I need her to do.

So much for pretending the guy doesn’t exist and focusing on work.

Do my eyes deceive me or does Reagan actually seem interested in a guy?

Don’t be ridiculous. The only thing I’m interested in is making sure everything balances out.

You keep telling yourself that. I saw the way you were drinking him in. Someone finally overheated your lady parts.

Enough Beth. I bark out, equal parts appalled at how loud she’s saying it and annoyed at how right she is. It might not be as dramatic as she’s making it seem, but there’s no denying that with the way I was just staring at him, he did peak my interest.

Touchy, touchy. She giggles and before I can respond, she’s leaning over into my personal space, her face completely lit up in a grin that normally signals all kinds of trouble. Hottie’s all yours. Your lady parts can thank me later.

My lady parts are just fine thanks. Besides, judging from the way he looks, he’s more your speed than mine.

Which you’re only saying because that asshole Walker did the mambo on your heart.

Any reminder of my past with Walker is enough to turn a day from bright to sour instantly and no one knows this better than Bethany.

Can we not bring Walker into every conversation?

Fine, but my offer still stands. You say the word and I’ll make sure his pleasure stick never pleasures another person again. Himself included.

There’s my best friend.

The one that when she heard about what Walker did at the party had gotten in her car and gone there, armed and ready to take him out before three of his buddies yanked her off. She might be slightly man crazy, but at the end of the day, I know where her loyalties lie.

Where they always have.

It doesn’t change the fact that what I said before is still true. No matter how affected I am by the guy across the room, he’s definitely been around. Which means he’s not my type.

Besides, a guy that looks as good as he does is probably taken anyway. A problem I don’t need. I won’t flip sides from scorned girlfriend to the person doing the scorning.

The last thing I need with the way I’ve been feeling lately is another guy coming into my life and turning it upside down.

I’ve had more than enough of that already.

Chapter Two

Cole

It’s confirmed.

Reagan Carter is Sunday Grayson.

The second I laid eyes on her, or felt hers on me anyway, I knew it as easily as I knew my own name.

She doesn’t look exactly like Luke, but there’s enough of a resemblance that even with my only memory of her being that of a drooling baby, there can be no doubt about her parentage.

Where Luke has his mother’s blue eyes, Sunday has her father’s brown ones. Add that to the way her lips curve downward when she scowls at the redhead standing to her right and it’s all the confirmation I need. She looks just like her brother.

When the police are actively involved in missing person’s cases, especially ones that have lasted as long as Sunday’s, they will use software that takes the missing person’s features and age them until they appear as close to the real person as you can get.

My mind is working a lot like that software now. Maybe even better because I can take note of things that a computer program wouldn’t pick up. Mannerisms, facial tics and expressions are all fair game, and the more she moves around and interacts with her co-workers, the more apparent it becomes just who she is.

There’s just one problem with realizing all of this. Now that I know the truth, I have no clue what the hell to do with it.

Casting a momentary glance down toward my phone, I resist the urge to call Luke. It would be so easy to dial the familiar number. Tell him that I’m sitting not four feet away from his missing sister and that if he wants the chance to reconnect, he needs to get his ass down here, but there’s something stronger stopping me from going through with it.

Her.

It wasn’t part of the plan to make my way in here, but after twenty minutes in the car bored out of my mind, I’d sauntered in and thrown myself down in the chair to watch and wait her out.

The first thing I noticed was the way she interacted with the bank clients. How even before they stepped forward to do business, she smiled a welcoming smile to put them at ease.

A smile that completely gutted me on sight.

What I wouldn’t give for a woman to look at me that way. I can’t even remember the last time anyone of consequence smiled at me period, much less the innocent way she does with people she doesn’t even know.

From there it became the twinkle I caught in her eye when one of the older customers would attempt to flirt with her. It reminded me of the times I came to the bank with my dad as a kid. It was embarrassing at the time, but seeing it play out in front of me now, it’s entertaining. And the way she reaches over the counter to them, her smile changing, but not completely going away, speaks to the level of patience and respect she has for them.

Chestnut brown hair with eyes to match, she’s a Grayson through and through.

Watching her now though, that’s not what I’m being driven by. I’m not looking at her like she’s my best friends’ sister. I’m not a private dick sent here to tell her the truth and get her home to her family.

I’m just a guy sitting and staring at the most beautiful girl I think I’ve ever seen. She’s fucking gorgeous and it’s become so damn obvious to me how affected I am by her that I’m having to swallow down the urge to jump the ropes in order to get closer.

Can I help you with something?

I wondered how long it was gonna take the stuffed shirt to finally get up the nerve to talk to me. I’m sure with the way I look right now, I’m the last person he wants to deal with. To be honest, I’m not all that excited to be dealing with him either.

Who do I see about opening up an account?

That would be one of our account managers, sir. Let me see if one of them is available. He turns to go but thinking better of it, or forgetting some pertinent piece of information I’m sure he thinks I can’t live without, he faces me down again. I’ll only be a minute.

Before he can get more than a foot or two away, realizing how fast this whole plan of mine can fall to shit, I call out to stop him. Are the tellers capable of doing it?

They can. I suppose if you’re pressed for time you can go through them.

If he’s attempting to appear anything but self-centered and snarky, he’s failing. If I wasn’t here with a specific purpose in mind, I’d have no problem putting the jerk in his place. If there was a jerkoff that needed it in the moment, it’s definitely this guy, but one look to the counter and the person that’s getting dangerously close to having face time with my girl, I swallow it and jump the ropes until I’m directly in front of her counter.

Her head looking down and completely unaware of my presence, it takes the redhead from earlier clearing her throat for those eyes I caught earlier—the ones that look so much like Xander’s— to finally look up and land on me before her mouth falls open in a perfectly shaped O.

I’m so sorry! I got so caught up with this I didn’t even realize anyone was in line.

Don’t worry about it. I was enjoying the view.

She offers up a shy smile as her cheeks flush and despite knowing who this is and what my job is supposed to be, I respond with a smile of my own. A natural one that takes next to no effort to make happen. The complete opposite of the way I normally am.

Take a step back, Cole. I chide myself. This isn’t some random girl you need to flirt with in order to get information. This is Luke’s sister.

So umm, she stammers, the blush deepening until its spread over her entire face. How can I help you?

The guy that was stupid enough to wear that ugly ass plaid shirt said I could see you about opening an account.

Starting to laugh before catching herself and bringing her hand up to curb it, I allow myself the luxury of smiling again.

This is crazy. I’ve been in front of her for less than five minutes and already I’m swept up in how natural—how real—her responses are.

The complete opposite of the way it is with Luke.

You can do that. She nods. What kind of account were you interested in opening? Personal or business? Checking or Savings?

Since the last damn thing I want to do is open another bank account when I can barely get a handle on the one I’ve already got, I take things in a different direction.

What kind of account gets me coffee with the teller opening it?

Reagan

I’ve gotta hand it to him. Hottie works fast.

I should have known from watching him that if he ended up in front of me, the first thing he would do is flirt. He looks like the shameless type. Willing to do whatever it takes to get the girl alone and preferably in his bed by the end of the night.

The last guy I’d ever be interested in.

Which is exactly why you’re single and having to look to book boyfriends for pleasure.

I’m sorry, what? I respond, pretending not to hear him while at the same time hoping that what I did hear was wrong and just my hormones playing tricks on me.

Shit. That was stupid of me. Forget I said anything.

He’s giving me an out and even though I know I should take it, there’s something about how quickly he’s backing off that makes me rethink my earlier assessment of him. If he was well versed in picking up women, the last thing he’d be doing is backtracking. So what exactly is he after?

You don’t really want to open an account, do you?

His eyes shift around as a miniscule half smile appears and it’s obvious I’ve caught him. What should offend me, him wasting the time I could be using with actual customers, doesn’t. Now I just want to know what it is about me that made him have to tell a lie in order to talk to me.

Is it that obvious?

Considering the last account I opened for someone I didn’t get asked out for coffee, I’m gonna go with yes.

So you did hear me.

Yeah, I did, but I’m having a hard time believing it.

Eyebrows lifting, he just stares. Not to be a total dick, but I’m having a hard time believing you don’t get hit on by every male in the place the second they come through the door.

The lack of control I have over my body’s response is starting to annoy me. No sooner do I seem to have overcome my earlier blush than another one threatens to rise up and replace it. The way I’m acting right now, you’d think I’d never received a compliment in my life, which is total crap. With the way Jake’s friends drool over me, it’s a daily occurrence, even if right now the situations are reversed and it’s not a sixteen year old doing the complimenting.

If you count sixty year old widowers, I’d have no choice but to agree with you.

I do count them, but the old guy that was up here a little bit ago was wearing a ring. So it’s more than just the widowers.

When he made his way in