Dad taught Harris not to talk with his mouth full, but, but, but...

"Someone ships Ablaze and me?" he said around the mouthful of rice, then grabbed a glass of water to wash it down. 'Ship' wasn't a word he expected to ever hear from Dad in this context. Shipping an order of handpicked spices from California, sure. Shipping a celeb on-line? Nope. "Who? Where?"

"In the comments on her podcast about her engagement to this British guy." A twinkle danced in Dad's eyes. "I'd say thirty percent."

Why was he so surprised? If his dad mastered Tinder and followed Ablaze's podcast, why wouldn't he talk like this? "Thirty percent? No way!"

"Fine, maybe not thirty. Maybe twenty. But they're vocal, Harris. And they think Oliver is fishy."

"That he is. But, Dad, Ablaze made her choice. She's her own woman, she—"

Sarkisian Senior dismissed his objections with a wave of his hand. "The fans' opinion is just the beginning. The main course is a professional confirming our suspicions. Lonita wanted me to show you some stuff they dug up on Oliver."

"Lonita, the neighbor?"

"Yes, that Lonita, from down the street. She's a detective with the Milwaukee PD."

The grin on dad's face skewed to one side with the bravado Harris hadn't seen before. No, not bravado. Pride. And he had seen it. When Harris won the chess tournament, that was how his dad smiled. Why would he have the same run when talking about a neighbour? The pang of jealousy was so strong, his chuckle came out as artificial. "Really? A detective? Well, I'll be damned!"

"Alright, alright, take it easy. Lonita spent her precious free time doing us a favor and looked into Oliver."

"Doing you a favor. I didn't ask anyone to run a background check on the other guy."

Sarkisian Senior pinched his lips. "I guess you don't want to see what she dug up then."

Dammit! Of course, Dad would see through Harris like his head was transparent! But he was young and fast—

Harris grabbed for the phone, but Dad moved it higher on time. They repeated this game until Harris mumbled, "You win! I want to know what Lonita found. Please give it to me? Pretty please?"

After his dad gave in, Harris looked at the screenshots. Lonita sent them a copy of a chat log from restaurants' reviewing site in Singapore, a local Yelp!

I'd never believe, the poster ranted, that Mrs. Ang would sell! The shops did marvelously even after Mr. Ang passed away, and now it's not the same. The spirit of the place is gone.

Harris frowned, lifting his glance at Sarkisian Senior. Dad's triumphant grin made little sense. It had to do with the food, of course, but other than that... "These are just restaurant reviews. Some guy wants things to stay the same, even his coffee. So what? It happens all the time."

Dad tapped his finger on the screen. "Patience, my son. Keep reading, and you'll see it."

Harris scrolled through a few more messages. They were all in the same key. Praising the incomparable Mrs. Ang and bashing Oliver—pleasant, but useless—until his eyes caught one specific word. Lonita even highlighted it in orange for those in the back.

He grasped the phone tighter.

Come on! After the fires in the kitchen, she had no choice but to sell. Once Appleby took over, their safety record was stellar again. So you can't say he's done nothing for the business. Just not coffee.

"Fires in the kitchen," Harris whisper-repeated the post.

His dad nodded so enthusiastically, his salt-and-pepper curls shook. "See? See? Sounds like a racket to me and Oliver needed just such a business to lure Ablaze's family into his atrocious deal."

"Dad, she likes him." Or, whatever it was she felt for him. Attachment? Fatal attraction?

"Did I raise a dullard? Woe is me!"

"Dad, slow down. Besides, you've rooted for Desiree before. Why go Team Ablaze when you're winning?"

Dad wasn't buying his tricks. "Listen, listen! So, this estranged heiress heads off to Wisconsin solo for some soul-searching, and bam! A fire breaks out in her hotel. She's found in iffy circumstances."

"So?"

"So, her influential, rich family is embarrassed. But Oliver swoops in, makes his pretentious little spiel—and ta-da! He saves the day and, as consequence, gets what he wants. Convenient, don't you think?"

Oh boy. The situation triggered two of Dad's latest passions—amateur sleuthing and the need to arrange his life. God help him...

"Dad, if the police think Oliver is the arsonist, then they'll arrest him."

"Lonita passed it on to the detective on the case and to your own task force. However, it'll take time, and there's no extradition treaty with Singapore."

"And I can do what about it?" He couldn't do shit about it or anything else. "I'm a firefighter. In Milwaukee."

Dad cut the air with the rib of his palm. "I don't believe for a moment you don't care that your girl—"

"She isn't my—"

"—our girl will marry a dangerous psychopath. Do you want that for her?"

Harris' glance slipped back to the messages. Fires in the kitchen... had to sell... don't say Oliver has done nothing.

Fires sprung in Ablaze's wake wherever she went. Could those be like the fires laid out by hunters herding their prey into a trap? More precisely, one hunter? Would he want her to marry Oliver if he was a criminal? When Oliver was just this rich, polished and genuinely decent man in Harris' eyes, it sent him reeling with frustration... and into the first warm bed he could find.

Harris gritted his teeth. "It doesn't really matter what I want."

"We think—"

"You and what army, Dad? Your vocal minority?"

Dad didn't even notice his snarl. His eyes glowed with sleuthing enthusiasm, and his nostrils flared. He was on the case. Committed.

"Me and Lonita, Harris, that's for starters."

Great, Dad was gossiping with a neighbor about his love life!

"But our virtual friends also agree that you should go to Singapore pronto and talk her out of this marriage. Convince her to come back with you. She'll be safer here while the investigation runs its course."

Fly to Singapore... talk to Ablaze... it must be nice to live in a universe where it was possible. For a second, Harris' head swam with the idea. His butt lifted out of the chair, his aching body poised to run. If only he could sprout fiery wings like the angels of her dreams! Then he'd fly to Singapore in style, flapping them until—

Until he would fall out of the sky and crush, even in a daydream.

With a groan, he dropped back into his chair. Pain far worse than from overworking himself, pierced his gut. He might as well have crushed from a mile's height for real.

"Dad," he whispered. "Dad, I don't normally discuss our finances with you, but to put it bluntly, it's either I fly to Singapore on a whim or we keep the house."

Sarkisian Senior's eyes rounded. "What are you talking about?"

"We're in debt up to our eyeballs, okay? I don't have the money to fly to Chicago, let alone Singapore."

But he could text Ablaze. She might even reply. Yuppie!

Sarkisian Senior slumped in his wheelchair. "If it's that bad, why didn't you tell me? I understand that with the medical bills we are pressed for cash, but I had no idea... Harris? Harris?"

Harris, Harris, Harris... Yeah, he hadn't casually informed the man, recently emerging from months of clinical depression following the loss of everything he loved, that his son was a giant failure. What an idiot. What was he to say now, that it just didn't come up?

"I... I hated to worry you, Dad. Plus, it's temporary—"

Temporary, short-term troubles, only dragging him under for three years. He squashed this bitter thought. He couldn't afford to wring his hands and despair. He had to work to dig them out of this damn hole.

"I'm sure things will improve."

He mixed the leftover rice on his plate with his fork, nauseous. His stomach was full to bursting, because he'd just pigged out. He never pigged out! He also never screwed like he did yesterday, till his dick was ready to fall off.

These weren't the firsts he was proud of. He heaved a sigh and pushed the plate away—too late, but there was nothing for it.

"Anyway, I'm tired. If you leave the dishes, I'll wash up in the morning. Okay?"

He couldn't endure his Dad's painful frown for another second, so he looked away and edged sideways off his chair. Straightening and taking every step set a new ache off. He was broke. So broke. Nothing was working as it should.

He scooped his phone—and yes, this too wasn't working out, for there was no reply from Ablaze.

"You need help with going to bed, Dad?"

"No, I'll manage. I want to..." Sarkisian Senior made a vague gesture. "I want to finish up something."

"Okay. Just... whatever. Don't worry about the dishes. I'll wash up in the morning." Harris had no energy left for anything but crawling to his bedroom. He disappointed everyone.

"Harris," Dad called after him as he trudged upstairs. "Don't give up. Just rest. I'll figure something out."

Rest, yes... rest and rely on his daddy to solve his messes. Him, a man of twenty-five. Awesome! Just awesome.

"Thanks," he said anyway, but even to his ears, his voice sounded defeated. "And I'll forward Ablaze—Agatha—this stuff Lonita found."

The way Ablaze talked about Oliver, she'd dismiss it. And who could blame her? Vague allegations meant little versus the devotion clear in Oliver. Women went for dangerous, rich men, even knowing they were bad news.

After Harris showered for the third time that day, Harris paced his bedroom, drip-drying more than toweling off. He was rubbing the last of the moisture from his hair when the phone on his bed pinged with an incoming message.

His towel flew to the floor, and he rushed across to grab it. Thankfully, his bedroom was about half the size of Desiree. So small that he stubbed his toe on the bed frame. But who needed toes? He just cussed and stretched on the blanket with his prize, like a damn teen girl. Again, whatever! She texted! She texted...

Ablaze: Can't chat rn. CY.