The mind is such a crazy thing, memory in particular. I could never understand how a simple sound or image could summon such a vivid piece of the past, but there I was experiencing it all the same.

I was parked outside of Flask, a trendy city lounge in a spot that seemed like an okay idea when Alex and I made plans. It was easy to find, had a name I remembered, and it was tucked beside a familiar hotel. I'd just forgotten it was also located across the street from the small shipping port in Brighton.

As I sat in my car, looking out at the view of the Kingston River, I felt twelve years old again. I smelled my father's Old Spice cologne, heard the soothing voice of Tom Petty on the radio, and that same sense of dread crept up my spine like a nightmare under the bed.

To normal people, that shipping port was just part of the esteemed river views, maybe even a selling point for patrons of the hotel. Heck, they probably charged extra for the rooms that faced the water. But for me, the shipping port was a focal point of my youth and a crack in my reality. It was a torch taken to a family portrait, the fire long put out while the embers of its demise still burned.

"Stay here, kid. I won't be long."

"Where are we, Dad? Who are those guys by the water?"

"Don't you worry about that. I just need to make this drop."

"Dalton's game started thirty minutes ago."

"I know. We'll go straight over there when I'm done, but when I get a call like this, it's important to see it through right away. It shows the big man that I'm the right guy for the job."

"One of them has a gun."

"They all have guns, sweetheart."

I was never supposed to be in the car that day. Any other time, I would have been with Mom at the baseball field already, but I was on the stage crew for the school's drama club. Our rehearsal time interfered with Dalton's pre-game practice, which meant Dad picked me up and we usually went straight over to the field after. We'd get there right in time for the first pitch.

That afternoon was an exception. A detour. One moment of many where my father turned up late or not at all to something important and the first time he brought me along for the ride.

I kept my eyes on him as he hopped out of the driver's seat and opened the back door, grabbing a black duffle bag from Dante. They exchanged a weird glance before Dad headed across the street.

"What's in the bag?" I asked, more to myself because I didn't think in a million years that Dante would actually tell me.

"Twenty bricks of cocaine." He surprised me that day with a truth I didn't fully understand yet, his answer hushed but clear. "Dad's on a trial run. Mr. Amato wants to know if he can be trusted on his own."

"Trusted with what?"

"More responsibility. More money."

"Why couldn't he just stay at the factory?"

"Medical bills don't pay themselves," he answered softly, eyes serious. "Something's going on with Mom, Davina. We need to let Dad figure this out."

It was a sobering sentiment and a tough reminder. Not to mention, a topic our parents weren't discussing candidly with me and Dalton yet. But to Dante's credit, annoying as he could be, he hardly ever lied to me.

While Dad and Dalton preferred to keep everything a damn secret, I could always get the important stuff from Dante. And that included at which point Mom's medical expenses were no longer at the forefront and my father's greed stepped in.

After her official diagnosis, Mom's treatment for multiple sclerosis was fully covered by insurance, and Dante's excuse for Dad changed to: "He just wants better for our family."

No matter the cost.

Before long, we were living far beyond our means and my father had taken too many enticing offers from Mr. Amato, ensuring our family would always be in his debt. More money was on the table and, more importantly, higher status.

Mr. Amato was selling a dream to our family, but he held the reins. All the control was in his hands, just the way he liked it, and as long as Dad could keep working, we'd be fine.

Except that Dad got pinched. And not far from those very docks that sat in front of me, I might add. The sight of them held me hostage when I should have been inside a bar enjoying the company of a new friend.

I let the discomforting memory simmer for another minute or so, and then I shook it off and resolved not to let the past ruin my present.

Sitting up straight in the driver's seat, I yanked down the sun visor above my head, checking my make-up in the mirror, fixing my hair, making sure there was nothing in my teeth. I felt unnecessarily nervous and weird, but tried to brush it off.

I look good.

This is fine.

I can get a drink with a new friend. I'm not betraying anyone or putting myself in danger.

I'm taking control of my fucking life.

Let's do this!

Wait.

I was just about to hop out of my car when I remembered I had one last thing to check on. It was make-up related, but not on my face.

Arching for a better view, I tilted my head to the side and homed in on the mark Spencer left on my neck. I had done my best with some concealer and wanted to make sure that red spot on my skin didn't look like the mistake it was.

That terrible terrible mistake. So hot and–

Focus, Davina.

I studied my skin again. Thankfully, the hickey disguise I'd conjured up was working well, so I called that a success, hopped out of my car, and headed toward the bar.

Matching the hotel beside it, Flask's brick facade was painted a sleek and shiny black, and only a large golden letter F decorated the center of the door. It was tall, heavier than it looked as I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The lights were dim and the place was packed. My eyes began a tentative scan across the sprawling bar and the line of booths along the wall, trying to get a glimpse past the sea of bodies in the middle of the room.

Alex said he would be in the area with his brother on restaurant business, probably at the greenhouse distributor down the street, if I had to guess, so I was sure he'd make it there before me. It was just a matter of finding where he was.

"Davina!" I heard my name being called and turned toward it with a smile. Well, that was easy. Alex was beckoning me from a booth near the back. "Over here!"

I tipped my chin at him and walked in his direction, surrounded by the smell of booze and body sweat as I shouldered past all the people dancing and mingling between us.

It was so crowded and I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me as I walked, but I took a deep breath and pressed on. I was in Brighton, after all, the home base of Amato and all his business deals. It wouldn't be unusual if someone recognized me.

Thanks to my father, lots of people knew who I was. Mostly people I wanted nothing to do with, which made Alex's face such a welcome sight, despite my mood being sour whenever I thought about the river being just across the street.

I took a seat on the other side of the booth. "Sorry I'm late," I told Alex, forcing a smile. I was just hanging out in the car, making myself upset.

"Nah, you're good." He waved a casual hand. "I just got here, too. Things ran a little late with my brother."

I nodded. "Did you guys find a new produce supplier?"

He didn't answer right away. His dark eyes were busy brushing over my face, flashing down to my top, and then beaming back up like lightning. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. We did."

"That's good," I exhaled, feeling flushed under the scrutiny of his gaze. I hadn't thought too much about what I was wearing, considering this wasn't a date, but I couldn't help wondering what he thought of my flowy button up and skinny jeans. Was I showing too much cleavage? Could he see the hickey?

"I assume your drive was uneventful?" he asked with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No flat tires or other inconveniences?"

Relieved by the ease of his conversation skills, I smiled. "Not a single one."

"Good," he mumbled softly. "That's good. You don't live too far from here anyway, right?"

"Not at all. Fairhaven's a quick drive away."

His dark eyes softened. "Do you like it there?"

"It's alright," I muttered, hoping the crack in my voice didn't give away my real answer. We needed a new topic, ASAP.

Thankfully, at that moment, a waitress approached the table. Our conversation was gloriously interrupted, but she was gone as quickly as she came, whisking away with our orders written on a small notebook in her hand.

I watched her go and then turned back to Alex. The lingering silence between us made it feel like we were a mile apart. In that low-lit corner of the bar we were in, it was hard to make out much of his face, but I could see a hesitant smile and a strange look in his eyes as he stared in my direction.

"So..." He drew that single word out on a breathy exhale.

I didn't know how to respond, so I tilted my head and echoed him. "So..."

He laughed and hung his head. "Have we hit a lull in conversation already?"

"I'm sorry." I covered my face with my hands, hiding an awkward smile. I didn't know what I was thinking, agreeing to this. "It's probably my fault."

"No, I'm certain it's mine," Alex interjected. His smile flickered between confident and unsure, his discomfort clear as he shifted around in his seat. When his eyes found mine, the sensitivity in them tugged at me as he said, "I'm just...I keep wanting to tell you how beautiful you look, but I don't want to cross a boundary since we're only out as friends."

Oh.

Oh.

The honesty in his words covered me like a blanket. I felt warm and safe and happier than I'd been when I walked through the door a few moments ago. I relaxed into the booth and smiled at him.

"You could still say that," I told him before looking down and clearing my throat. Flushed at my forwardness, I quickly added, "I mean, if that's how you feel."

"It is," Alex said just as quickly. I glanced back up at him and caught his lips tilting into the sweetest grin. "You look beautiful, Davina."

"Thank you," I whispered across the table, feeling flush and breathless. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but I couldn't deny the touch of exhilaration I felt in my chest either. The confusion was real.

Needing something to do with my hands, I reached for the coaster in front of me and flipped it around a few times, my fingers drumming along the thick papery edge.

"Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way," Alex said with a very cute smirk. "Is this the part where I ask you about your family and you ask me about work and we let all the awkwardness fizzle away and have a great night?"

I scrunched my face a little. I loved the idea of fizzling away the awkwardness, but his proposed topics weren't even close to what I wanted to talk about. I decided it was probably best to be honest about that from the start.

"Actually, I really don't want to talk about family," I said.

"Perfect," Alex smiled. "Because I don't really want to talk about work."

"Perfect." I felt a weight release from my shoulders, already growing more comfortable by the second. "So, what will we talk about then?"

"I'm not sure." Alex frowned. Then his eyes lit up and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, fingers sliding over the screen with speed. "Let's Google some ideas."

"Fine. If it's really come to that already." I crossed my arms over my chest, feigning distaste. But in reality, I found the whole thing rather amusing.

I listened carefully as Alex began reading conversation topics outloud from a blog he found online, filled with the most random ideas to break the ice. His voice was so pleasant, and he smiled between suggestions, offering the occasional raised brow as he waited for my reaction to a given topic.

Going over them together felt absurd and funny and just right for the moment. I couldn't help watching Alex's mouth as he spoke, admiring the plush fullness of his lips. It was a thought not very well suited for a casual drink with a friend, but I allowed it all the same.

Eventually, searching for a conversation topic became the conversation topic, and I was really starting to enjoy myself. Tucked away in our booth at the back of the bar, I was lost in the moment with Alex.

So lost, in fact, that when I heard a familiar male voice coming from somewhere behind me, I barely registered it.

A moment later, when I heard that voice again, in a low and husky tone I knew so well, I kept my attention on the handsome guy sitting across from me and told myself I was just hearing things.

It was a phantom voice, that's all, brought on by stress and the memory of a fantastic orgasm in my kitchen. Sugar cookies I couldn't even taste without thinking of his mouth.

My fingers itched to graze that spot he left on my neck, but I didn't want to ruin the cover-up job I'd done, and I didn't want to be thinking of Spencer Lovejoy. I didn't want to entertain the idea of him actually being in the same room as me, again.

I told myself there was no way he followed me to a bar in Brighton.

He'd never go that far.

Would he?

My anxious thoughts were interrupted as the waitress returned with our drinks. I couldn't even remember what I'd ordered, it felt like a lifetime ago that she'd stopped at our table.

"So sorry for the wait," she said, sounding out of breath and busy. "Got a full house tonight."

"Not a problem." I gave her a reassuring smile.

She slid Alex his drink first and then turned to me, shifting her body so close to mine that I caught a strong whiff of fruity perfume and could see the blonde highlights in her curtain bangs. The proximity didn't immediately feel weird, but when her eyes latched onto mine for a lingering second, I found myself sitting up straighter in the booth.

"I brought you an extra napkin," she said to me, annunciating the last word before rushing back to the bar.

My nerves went on the fritz as I turned back to Alex, smiling through the questions that invaded my mind, trying to ignore my rapidly changing pulse.

He took a sip of his beer and I took a sip of my cocktail, noting right away that it was a bit heavier on the vodka than the cranberry. The opposite of what I'd ordered, but hey, the waitress was busy. I could overlook it.

What I couldn't overlook was the extra napkin she'd brought with my drink and what she meant by pointing it out. My right leg shook with anxiety under the table.

"Alright, where were we?" Alex asked, picking up his phone again and resuming our activity. "Number fifteen on the list of cool conversation topics says..."

His voice drifted into the background as I reached for the napkins, holding my breath and lifting them up at the corner. There was a note underneath.

What the hell...

I lifted the napkins a bit more so I could see it better.

Bathroom. Now.

Just two words scrawled onto a ripped piece of paper. The capital B looked more like an eight, and the rest of the letters were messy and rushed, the ink all patchy like the pen was running out, but I could read it perfectly well.

After all, I'd know that handwriting anywhere. Spencer had been writing his stupid Bs like that for as long as I could remember.

I exhaled a breath of relief, the anxiety leaving my body in waves. But as quickly as it cleared, it was replaced by something else. A realization I didn't want to entertain but had to.

Turns out, that phantom voice I'd heard wasn't a phantom at all. Spencer was here somewhere, and I was immediately irritated.

"Hold that thought," I told Alex with a sigh as I gathered the note into my hands, all sneaky-like.

His dark eyes beamed up at me. "You alright?" 

"Yeah, I'm good." I faked a smile and came to my feet. "I just have to run to the ladies' room real quick."

And kick someone in the shins.