Page 2

Two

J ulia marched straight toward the bar tucked into the living room.

Hoo-fucking-ray, there was no line.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

Liquor never solved any problems, but a friendly beverage sure could take the edge off a shitty surprise. Like her nemesis sidling close enough for her to feel his body heat, and the split second she’d enjoyed it before realizing it was him .

The snarky comments he’d made when she was sixteen came rushing back.

Nice pants.

Love the way you eat that banana.

You’re cute for someone who diagrams sentences for fun.

He was supposed to stay in her past. She’d avoided him and his friends on social media, and once she’d graduated high school, she’d left this side of the country behind.

But here he was, live and in person. Worst of all, the stupid zing that she thought was dead and buried woke right the hell up the second she locked eyes with the worst person she’d ever met.

Carson Fucking Miller.

“What do you recommend?” she asked the bartender.

“Champagne?”

A natural suggestion for a celebration, but she couldn’t stomach the stuff. A magnum of Cook’s Brut, a booze funnel, and a college dare had ruined bubbles for her.

“Actually, could I have a white wine or…” She noted the standee advertising a specialty cocktail for the evening—A Perfect Pear. She pointed to the sign. “I’ll have that. Make it a double?”

“You’ve got it. I’m supposed to top it with champagne—want me to leave it out?”

“Yes, please.”

As the bartender prepped and shook her drink like a maraca, Julia drummed her fingers against the bar’s granite surface. This did not compute. Four million people in Los Angeles, and her mother was engaged to the father of the most annoying meathead she’d ever met.

How? She could already tell Jim was a sweetie.

When he and Mom had picked her up from the Burbank airport earlier today, he’d insisted on handling her bags.

After some pleasant chitchat in the car, a tour of his lovely home—who knew home contracting paid so well?

—and a power nap so she wouldn’t fall asleep during the party, she’d rushed to get ready, then headed downstairs.

The chef good-naturedly rebuffed her attempts to help circulate the food, so she’d wandered out to the living room and found Jim alone.

Not surprising. Mom was always fashionably late, even to her own parties.

But it was a good chance to learn more about her future stepfather.

As she and Jim talked, she was struck by déjà vu.

The set of his shoulders, the way he cocked his head toward her to show he was listening… She’d seen that somewhere before.

Now she knew where.

This salt-of-the-earth guy, who seemed to get her mother and love her quirks, had spawned Satan. Unlike Carson, Jim was great and she genuinely got good vibes from him. Like when his eyes lit up because his son had arrived. Charming, right? That’s how a father should react to his kid.

Unless that kid is Carson Fucking Miller.

“Here you go. A Perfect Pear. Since it’s a double, I used a bigger glass.” The bartender eyeballed the hurricane glass typically reserved for pina coladas. “Might be more like a triple.”

“Even better.” She collected her deliciously chilled cocktail and snuck out the side entrance. At least she hoped it was the side entrance.

For all she knew, it led to the garage, a storage closet, or Narnia.

Score. This was the side entrance. She faced a faded play set nestled within a secluded patch of fragrant flowering bushes.

Florals were one hospitality topic on which she lacked a firm grip.

She knew the basics. Roses, plumeria, lilies, sunflowers—crowd-pleasers that brought freshness to otherwise impersonal lobbies and meeting rooms. The gorgeous bloom into which she stuck her nose, however, was unknown to her.

Her grad school mentor had advised her to spend time at lawn-and-garden shows to bone up on her greenery.

Better add that task to her personal-growth project in her Positively Productive app.

Ah, the comfort of logistics. If she buried her brain in plans, she’d distance herself from the icky, less-than feelings swirling around inside her right now.

Alcohol might help with that, too.

Unhealthy? Yes. But she’d worry about that tomorrow.

Gingerly, she sat on the wooden swing dangling from the play set.

As she typed out the task with one thumb, she sipped her cocktail.

Tasty. Fresh pear purée, gin, and elderflower liqueur.

She swished it around in her mouth. Lemon juice to brighten it up.

Even without the champagne, it was an excellent choice for a fall engagement party.

She tipped her head back. Los Angeles’s light pollution and smog erased the stars from the sky. Ithaca’s stargazing was better, especially via Cornell’s Fuertes Observatory’s public-observation Fridays. But most night skies paled in comparison to Belize’s.

When they were kids, her dad had taken her and her older sister, Alex, on overnight camping trips.

Away from civilization, the star-thick night seemed textured, touchable, dense.

Under Belize’s skies, she almost felt her father’s presence.

Which was probably why she’d been avoiding her favorite place in the world.

The hole in Julia’s chest, the one her dad’s death carved three years ago, widened.

Sigh. Now she’d be flying to Belize for the wedding. This must’ve been why Mom had insisted Julia pack for two weeks.

This engagement may seem sudden because you’ve only just found out about Jim, but I’m desperate for you to be here for the party and meet him. I’m planning lots of events and excursions, so pack loads! And your passport in case we daytrip to Mexico.

Why hadn’t she just said so?

She’d been excited that her mother invited her here for her engagement party.

Sure, this was Mom’s fourth marriage, but love was worth celebrating.

And maybe, possibly, they could invite Alex to fly in and they could spend time together as a family.

Something they hadn’t done since Julia was in high school and Alex moved back to Belize.

Instead of a celebratory vacation, though, Mom was putting her to work.

She sipped her drink.

Locating her wedding in Belize was an obvious ploy to get Alex to attend.

It wasn’t Julia’s job to play peacemaker between them, but she couldn’t help it.

After Dad died and Alex took her grief out on Mom, Julia panicked that her fractured family would fall completely apart.

She’d spent the last three years showing up for both Mom and Alex, hoping they’d listen to her and hash out their differences.

From the shadows, a dashing figure emerged. “Julia?”

Fuck my life.

Had she known he’d seek her out, she would’ve hidden in the play set’s fort. Too late now, though. The swing next to her creaked as Carson eased into it, all suave, handsome confidence.

“Hey,” he said.

Age had chiseled away Carson Miller’s smidge of teenaged softness. In the ten years since they’d last spoken, he’d become unfairly broader, thicker, and…well, he’d become a man. Had she met him for the first time today, impure thoughts would’ve streamed through her brain.

Lucky for her, though, she had context.

She wasn’t fooled by his attractive packaging. Nope. He hadn’t pulled the wool over her eyes in high school, either. Her lack of fawning had confused him and triggered his ceaseless taunting. Back then, she couldn’t always handle his snarky attention. Sometimes it had frozen her.

The older, wiser Julia, however…

Still froze, damn it.