Olivia was grounded indefinitely. Her parents had arrived home from their night out to find that one or both of the twins, Olivia didn't know which, had spilled an entire jug of grape juice all over the dining room floor. "Who the hell has carpet in their dining room?" Olivia had exclaimed when she told me the news. But with her out of commission and John working all day, I was stuck at home by myself.

With nothing better to do, I agreed to grab lunch with my mom, but when I arrived at her office, she wasn't there. Settling into her desk chair to wait, I powered up a game on my phone.

"Oh. Hello, Blake."

I looked up at the sound of my name to find my mother's partner, Andrew Larsen, standing in the doorway.

"I didn't know you were coming by today," he said, taking a step into my mother's office. "How are you?"

"Great."

"You're waiting for your mother?"

"Yep," I said, keeping the conversation to mono-syllables.

He smiled. "Lunch date?"

"Yeah."

Andrew's gaze lingered, uncomfortably intrusive, as his smile broadened. He took another step closer. "I haven't seen you in a while. Months, it's been. You're certainly growing up."

"Uh . . ."

"You look nice."

I clenched my teeth. "Thanks."

He lifted his nose slightly. "You smell nice, too."

Thankfully my mother breezed in at that moment, saving me from having to think of a response.

"Andrew. Just the person I was looking for," she said, shoving a cardboard file box into his arms. "I need you to put together these promotional materials for the open house on Willowbend."

"Consider it done." He turned to go, pausing at the doorway. "Goodbye, Blake."

"Bye."

My mother clapped her hands together, making me jump. "Hungry?" she asked, bending down to retrieve her purse from her desk drawer. "I'm starving."

"I was hungry," I said. My mother gave me a questioning look. "Never mind," I replied, waving away my comment.

We ended up at a café across the street, seated at one of the tables on the flagstone patio. "What a gorgeous day!" my mother exclaimed, raising her face to the sun and blue sky. There wasn't a single cloud visible. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking especially relaxed and content.

"Mom?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I, uh . . . I need to talk to you about Mr. Larsen."

"What about him?"

"He, uh . . . He makes me uncomfortable."

That got her attention. She sat up in her chair, pulling off her sunglasses to look at me. "Makes you uncomfortable how?" She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Has he done something inappropriate?"

I unrolled the silverware from the cloth napkin and placed it in my lap just for something to do, feeling suddenly embarrassed for mentioning it. "He hasn't done anything other than smile at me and tell me how nice I look."

"Well, Andrew's polite. He compliments me all the time."

"But does he also tell you that you smell nice?"

The crease between her brows deepened. "Maybe he likes your perfume?"

"I'm not wearing any."

She drummed her fingers on the table, obviously trying to rationalize. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around Andrew or not come by my office because of him. Do you want me to say something to him?"

"No!" I said, a little louder than necessary. "That would make it even more awkward than it already is. I'll just avoid him. Maybe it's all in my head and I'm just imagining things."

"I'm sure you're not imagining things." She pursed her lips. "Still, he's known you most of your life, Blake. He's watched you grow up."

"Yeah, only I'm not so little anymore," I said, giving her a meaningful look.

The waitress came around then to take our orders, putting an end to our conversation about Andrew Larsen.

"So what are your plans for the rest of the day?" my mom asked once we were alone again.

I shrugged and told her what had happened with Olivia and the twins the night before, and how Olivia was forbidden to leave the house until her parents were satisfied she'd served her time. They'd also confiscated her cell so all forms of communication were out of the question.

"Whatever happened to sneaking out?" my mother said.

I gave her a look. "Didn't you just recently yell at me for lying and sneaking around?"

"Did I? I don't remember."

I blinked. "Are you kidding me?"

Her shoulders rose and fell. "Well, that doesn't sound like something you'd do. You've always been responsible. What's John up to today?"

I raised the buttered roll to my mouth. I still couldn't get over my mother's sudden change of heart where both my ex and John were concerned. "He has to work."

"He has a job?" she asked, sounding interested. "Where?"

I coughed, sputtering a few crumbs. I had a feeling that as soon as I told her where John worked, she'd change her mind once again and insist that I couldn't hang out with him. Zach, after all, had a job as a summer intern at his father's law firm. It was just filing papers and answering phones, but surely that was more respectable than busing tables.

"You know that little restaurant by the lake?" It was a bar, but whatever.

My mother's eyes widened. "You mean The Blue Lagoon?"

I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was impressed. The Blue Lagoon was a pretty swanky place. I'd gone there with Zach this past Valentine's Day and had an appetizer that cost what I made after an entire night of babysitting.

"No," I said, my words muffled around the bite of bread. "No. He, um, works at that other place down that way. The Marauder's Cove."

My mother frowned, trying to think of the place. "You mean that bar?"

"It's a bar?" I said as if I didn't already know.

"Didn't I read something in the paper about that place not too long ago? Some kind of altercation or something," she said. "I think the police chief got involved."

"I don't remember hearing anything about that."

She cleared her throat and took a sip of water. "Well, good for John. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?"

"Are you feeling okay, Mom?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Don't I look fine?"

"Just wondering. Anyway," I said. "He has to make up for missing a few days—his cousin's been in town visiting—but we're getting together tomorrow."

"His cousin's in town?"

"His name's Ian. He's originally from Scotland but now lives in New York City."

"What's he like?"

"Sort of a jerk. Funny, though. I guess I like him."

"Maybe the two of you should hang out," my mother suggested, squeezing the juice of a lemon wedge into her water. "I'm sure he's just sitting around watching TV without John to entertain him. You could show him around town, take him on a tour of the campus. Grab some ice cream."

I fidgeted in my seat. Naturally, I hadn't told my parents anything about what had happened the night before, and that's how it would remain. Not only was I still embarrassed, but my mother would also flip if she found out I'd persuaded Ian and John to offer me alcohol.

"I don't think so," I said. "I don't know him very well. It would be weird."

"Fair enough," was all she said as she checked her cell. She swore under her breath and immediately began to gather her purse. "I completely lost track of time. I've got to get back to the office."

"You're blowing me off? The food's not even here!"

She rummaged through her wallet and slapped her credit card on the table. "I'm not blowing you off, honey. I have an appointment. But you stay and enjoy. Ask the waitress to box up my lunch, will you? You can leave it in the fridge at home."

I slumped in my chair, deflated. "Fine. Whatever. Just abandon me."

She gave my shoulder a farewell squeeze and then was gone. "Thanks for lunch," I said to no one in particular.

**********

By seven o'clock that evening I had organized all of my dresser drawers for lack of anything better to do. At half-past I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Deciding I'd had enough boredom for one night, I got in my car and drove to The Marauder's Cove. If John couldn't come to me, I would go to him.

I had never been to a bar and didn't know what to expect. The Marauder's Cove was not a big place, and the dim lighting made it feel claustrophobic. I stood in the doorway wondering if anyone was going to card me, but no one appeared too interested in the underage girl who obviously didn't know what she was doing. With a shrug, I made my way inside.

The flat-screen in the corner was tuned to a baseball game, and a motley group of guys stood crowded around to watch. Most were wearing jeans and t-shirts, but a few looked like they had come from office jobs with their suit jackets hanging limp on chair backs and ties pulled loose around their necks. A raised stage took up most of the opposite side of the room. Members of a local band that I liked were busy unloading their equipment, apparently getting ready to play a gig. A lone guy at the piano, who wasn't with the band, was hammering out vintage Billy Joel. One of the guys watching the game stood and shouted for him to shut up if he wanted to keep his fingers, but the man at the piano only raised his eyes in a disinterested way and kept playing. I stayed well out of the way in case a fight broke out, but the other man went back to watching his game without any additional threats.

I scanned the room, looking for John, but didn't see him. A pool table stood in the center of the bar and left few places to sit, but I spotted an empty seat near the back and pushed my way through the crowd to get there.

On the way, some guy grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "I haven't seen you here before," he said, eying me up and down. "What's your type?"

"Not you," I said, trying to wrench my arm free.

He grinned. "Maybe not, but I think you're mine."

I yanked harder. "I don't think so."

Raising my arm to his mouth, he deposited a kiss at my wrist. "We'll see about that."

I finally pulled free, and the man turned and sauntered away, laughing as he went. I watched him disappear behind a black curtain hanging in a doorway and stretched floor to ceiling. I didn't even want to think about what might be going on behind there.

Reaching the vacant table at last, I sat down and slumped low in the seat, feeling incredibly out of place. I clasped my hands in my lap to hide the small diamond my parents had given me as a Sweet Sixteen the previous year, realizing this was probably not the place to flaunt that sort of thing. After a few minutes of enduring curious glances from a few of the other customers, a waitress sidled up to the table, frowning down at me from under a lion's mane of kinky black curls. Her brown eyes narrowed, and one brow arched.

"You ain't supposed to be here."

I cleared my throat, straightening my shoulders. "Says who?"

She put a hand on her hip. "Says the boss, that's who. You supposed to go directly to the back. Didn't anyone tell you?" She pointed to the curtain where the man who'd hit on me had disappeared.

"I'm meeting someone," I said, wondering what she was talking about.

Both brows went up this time. "A private meeting, huh? Fine. You want somethin' while you wait, baby girl?"

"I'll have a soda, heavy on the ice."

"A soda," she said. "Sure you don't want somethin' a little stronger? You seem nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

She laughed. "Whatever you say, baby girl. One soda, comin' right up."

I watched the waitress wind her way through the crowd to the bar, presumably to place my order with the man behind the counter. I saw her point in my direction, and the man and I briefly made eye contact. I turned away and pretended I hadn't been staring in the first place. I scanned the place again for John but didn't see him. Maybe he'd already left for the night and was on his way home. I should have waited for him to call. Digging my cell out of my purse, I checked for any voicemails or missed texts, but there were none.

Some of the guys in front of the TV were getting riled up over something that had happened in the game, and there was a lot of swearing going on. I was just thinking that I should get up and leave—I really didn't belong in a bar—when I looked over and caught the eye of the guy at the piano. He'd obviously been staring at me, and I wondered for how long. He rose from the bench, eyes fixed on me, and I looked down, finding myself suddenly very busy with the contents of my purse. I half expected him to sit down across from me at any second and start flirting, but he didn't. When I looked up again, I saw the reason why.

The man Olivia and I had been talking about—the one we sometimes saw roaming the streets of downtown in his leather duster and cowboy hat—had his hand pressed in the middle of the guy's chest. Whoever he was, he shook his head at the piano player. The guy tried to push past, but the cowboy stopped him with a shove that sent the other man rocking back on his heels. His lips moved, but his jaw was set firm. The piano player looked at me once more and then nodded, stalking off in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing here?"

I jumped in my seat as John set the soda on the table in front of me. "John! You scared me!"

John glared down at me, a gray bucket tucked under one arm and a soggy dishtowel slung over his shoulder. "I told you I had to work all day."

I looked around the place and then back up at him. "I know, but I wanted to see you. But I'm starting to think that was a mistake. Some of the guys in here are a little intense."

"You don't belong here, Blake." He didn't sound at all happy to see me, which gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Wanna hear something funny?" I said, trying to lighten the mood.

John set the bucket on the floor and slid into the seat opposite mine. "Sure," he said, though he didn't sound too enthusiastic.

"The man in the leather coat—I've seen him before. Downtown and . . . other places, I think. Who is he?"

"Josiah Butler," John said, not even bothering to look. "He makes sure everybody behaves."

"Is that, like, the official uniform or something?"

John cracked a smile, some of the tension dissipating. "That's just Josiah. Anyway," he said, sliding out of the booth. "I have to get back to work. I'll be stuck here for another few hours. We just got in a shipment that I have to help unload and inventory."

"Oh. Okay." I got up, too, leaving my drink untouched. I pulled out my wallet, but John put his hand on mine to stop me.

"I'll get it."

"Thanks," I said, dropping my wallet back in my purse. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

"You bet."

We said goodbye as I made my way to the exit. The man Josiah was leaning casually against the outer wall, just outside the door. Our eyes met and he nodded his head, touching the brim of his hat with his free hand.

"Goodnight, Blake."

I nodded but didn't say anything, just quickened my pace to my car. It was only after I'd arrived home and was on the verge of falling asleep that I replayed the scenes from The Marauder's Cove in my head. And the part that stuck with me the most was, how did Josiah Butler know my name?

*****

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