Page 24 of Full Out Fiend

“Yeah.” She smirks. “I guess I am.”

“Count me in. You couldn’t keep me away.”

She pulls my door closed, and I pick up my phone again, sighing as I mindlessly scan my messages.

It’s a lot of nothing: Updates from my brother and his girlfriend, Maddie. Useless information from my friend Cole, who was at The Oak that night.

I’ve got them all working to find her—to findanythingthat might lead to her—but it’s been almost two weeks since I met Daphne, and so far, we’ve collectively come up with nothing.

Maddie has run her first name through every social media app that exists. We found two Daphnes in Hampton: one is a sweet older lady who posts pics of her grandkids and inspirational animal memes, and the other looks like she’s in middle school.

Maddie can’t find any property records, either, which makes sense since Daphne told me she lives with her parents.

I don’t know her last name. I don’t know her former fiancé’s name. I assume she’s a few years younger than me—meaning she’s a few years older than Maddie—putting her at that sweet spot where none of us crossed paths with her at Archway Prep or Hampton High.

Cole’s been cooperative but useless. He doesn’t remember running credit cards for anyone in the bridal party that night. I believe him, considering the sizable charge onmycredit card. Apparently, I boughtallthe drinks for Daphne’s bridal party. If I ever see that redhead bridesmaid again, we’ll be having words.

Short of hoping I randomly run into Daphne, or that she decides she wants to find me, I’m out of ideas.

Dumpy: Could you just sit at the Oak and hope she walks back in?

Fielding: I could. But she was there for a bachelorette party. I don’t think it’s her usual scene.

Dumpy: And you know nothing else about her? Her occupation? What car she drives? Anything?

I knock my knuckles against my forehead in frustration. I know a helluva lot about her—so many beautiful, intimate details I never want to forget.

The way her hips curved out and begged me to hold them. The sounds of her breathy whimpers when she liked what I was doing and wanted more. How my nerves lit up with excitement when she begged and whispered “please.” The feeling of her thighs tightening around my head right before she came.

I know so many things about her. Yet none of it can help us now.

Fielding: Nothing we can use. I’m starting to think this is hopeless.

Chapter 15

Daphne

“Idon’tunderstand.Thewhole thing is justoff? You’re not getting married at all?”

I plaster on a serene smile as I smooth the warm sugar compound against the grain of hair along my client’s bikini line. Unflinchingly, I gather and pull the sugar in a swift downward motion, reveling in a hint of satisfaction when she hisses through her teeth.

“Correct. Our families remain friends”—which is an issue I wasn’t expecting to contend with—“but Anthony and I are no longer in a relationship.”

Silence stews between us as I pull out another patch of hair along her pubic bone, wincing in sympathy when she yelps this time. That spot really is the worst—even for my nosiest client.

The rest of the appointment is awkward—which is par for the course these days. My wedding was set for this Saturday. I was engaged for nearly two years, and my clients all followed along on the planning journey, asking for updates and gushing about colors and flowers and all the details right along with me at their regular appointments.

It doesn’t help that most clients’ first questions are whether I’m nervous, excited, or just ready for Saturday. I’m sure none of them expected the types of conversations we’ve been having when they showed up for their service.

I apply cooling gel and say goodbye to my client, giving her privacy to get dressed so she can check out at the front desk, then I start toward the break room.

Serena catches up with me as she heads the same way to clean out her color supplies.

“Another heartbroken client?” she teases, flipping her thick auburn hair over one shoulder so she can watch me as she washes her bowls and brushes.

“Apparently.” I sigh and mindlessly straighten the boxes of color solutions stacked on the shelf in front of me.

“Hey.” Serena bumps my hip with hers. “You did the right thing. The right thing, and the brave thing. It’ll get easier as the weeks go on.”