I managed a smile. “Stick your nose.”
“That’s what they say. So, is that what this is all about?” she asked, reaching out and touching my curls. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair down.” Her chocolate brown eyes shifted from one side of my face to the other, and she held up her hand before I could reply. “It is, isn’t it? It’s this mystery guy you’re dying to tell me about. Oh my God! That’s why you’ve been MIA!”
“Charles is not why I’ve been ‘MIA’.”
“Charles?” Lauren asked. “Now there’s a sexy name! Well, out with it. You have to give me the spoon!”
The scoop. I slipped around to the other side of the booth. “Let me get my lunch first.”
I hated keeping secrets from Lauren, but I didn’t have much choice.
Jack swooped by the table with Lauren’s previously-ordered salad. He stood at the end of the table, pencil tucked behind one ear. I never understood why he carried a pencil around, since he never wrote down anyone’s orders. “You ordering, Sophia?”
“I’ll get it,” I said. The diner was short-staffed enough, with Jack having to tend the tables while I took my lunch.
“Do I need to redefine ‘break’ for you?” Jack winked.
Not being hungry, I opted for a strawberry milkshake and thanked him before he hurried back to the kitchen.
Lauren leaned closer. “Sooo? Are you going to spill the rice about your big, mysterious night out?”
“I hate to disappoint you, but there isn’t much to tell.” Other than that whole ‘almost killed by a Cruor’ thing.
“Well, which club did you go to?” Lauren kept her eyes on me as Jack breezed by the table, dropping off my milkshake.
I smiled my thanks to him and returned my attention to Lauren. “Which club?” I repeated. I cleared my throat. “Oh, some club in Denver. Hush, or something.”
“Hush?” she asked, shaking pepper onto her salad. “I can’t believe you went to Hush.”
“Well, believe it, because I did.”
Actually, I’d never been to Hush. I felt terrible about all this lying I’d been doing lately. I couldn’t even blame my parents, because Mother had never lied on purpose.
Delusions don’t count.
Growing up, Mother always encouraged me to tell the truth. The truth will set you free, she said, and she’d reinforced the idea by letting me off the hook for anything I did wrong, so long as I was honest about it.
But I still grew up to be a liar, even if I hated doing it. Whenever possible, I opted for evasion instead.
“You okay?” Lauren asked, concern-lines creasing her brow. “You look a little green.”
I was starting to feel a little green. “I’m fine.”
“So, this guy—er, Charles? You met him there?” As she spoke, she waved her fork around dangerously. “He doesn’t look like the type that frequents Hush.”
“Yep, he was there, I was there…we were both there.”
“And?” Lauren crunched on a piece of iceberg lettuce and smiled. “Give me the details.”
“We chatted for a bit, then I went back to Ivory’s house.”
“That’s no fun.” She impaled a cherry tomato. The salad was under attack. Or maybe I felt under attack from Lauren’s barrage of questions. “When are you going to see him again?”
“Honestly, Lauren—it’s nothing. We’re just meeting for coffee. We aren’t even friends.”
“Then why are you two meeting for coffee?” she teased. “I should go with you. Make sure things don’t get too serious.”
Pins and needles tingled my fingers. I’d been gripping my milkshake the entire time without realizing, numbing my hand with pressure and cold. I sipped my drink and pushed the glass away—far away, to the land of ketchup and mustard bottles.
“I’ll manage. Jack will still be around. I’ll call you afterward.”
Lauren must have sensed my discomfort, because she immediately dropped the subject and began talking about henna hair dye and organic nail polish.
I was glad for a friend who knew me well, but there was still something about me that neither of us knew:
I was a horrible judge of character.
Chapter 10
WITH SOME TIME LEFT before I planned to meet Charles, I ran a search for Basker Street on the break room computer—one of Jack’s few modern-day indulgences.
Nothing at all.
Not one street by that name anywhere in the world. Not even some place in Indonesia or France or anything. Growling, I closed my search and stuffed my red work shirt and apron into my workbag, showing off the mandala print top I wore underneath.
When I returned to the main dining area, I spotted Charles seated in booth seven. The only other customers were paying their checks at the register.
Finally. Time for answers.
Charles stood and swept his arm toward the table. “Please, sit.”
I obliged, cramming my bag and coat into the corner of the seat.
He slid back into the booth. “Ivory said she told you everything.”