Chapter 5 #2
For one ridiculous second, everything in me goes soft and hot at once. The plane. The low hum of the cabin. Ace watching me with that slow, wicked patience while I try very hard not to react to anything about him and fail miserably.
I eat the candy. It’s absurd that I’m having a sensual memory in a shopping center chocolate store in Hawaii. Clio pops her sample into her mouth and chews, watching me the whole time.
“Oh, it’s bad,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“Whatever memory just possessed your face.”
I nearly choke on the caramel.
Clio points at me. “Who is he?”
“What makes you think it’s a he?”
She gives me a long look. “Please. I know your tells. That was a man face.”
I stare at the display case instead of her, because if I look directly at Clio right now, she’ll probably extract the entire story through eye contact alone.
“His name was Ace.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Clio says, very carefully, “No, it wasn’t.”
I let out a laugh before I can help it.
“That’s not a real name. It’s a man introducing himself like he expects background music.”
“He really did have that kind of energy.”
“Oh my God.” She leans closer. “Where did you find him?”
“Seattle.”
She softens a little then, still grinning. “Tell me.”
So I do, including how he brought me chocolate and we ended up being upgraded to first class.
Clio’s brows go up so high they practically disappear into her hairline. “Oh, that’s disgusting luck.”
“I know.”
“And then?”
I hesitate.
Clio sees it instantly and grabs my forearm.
“No.” Her voice drops to an incredulous whisper. “No. Adelaide.”
I start smiling, which is irritating because I would prefer to be mysterious and above this. Instead, I say, “And then I joined the mile-high club.”
Clio makes a sound so loud and scandalized that the woman behind the counter abruptly becomes fascinated by a box of truffles at the far end of the shop.
“You did not.”
“Yep, I did.”
“With airport lounge Candy Man?”
“In first class, yes.”
“Oh my God!” She grabs both my arms now, staring at me as though I’ve confessed to armed robbery. “I have known you for years,” she says. “You once returned a library book before it was due because keeping it too long made you anxious.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“And now you’re telling me you had anonymous plane sex with a man called Ace who seduced you with chocolate.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds impulsive.”
She just stares at me.
I shrug. “Fine. It was, but he was irresistible.”
Clio presses a hand to her chest. “I’m obsessed with this version of you.”
“I’m not sure she’s stable.”
Clio’s grin turns wicked. “Was he good?”
Heat rushes up my neck so fast it nearly knocks me sideways. I give her a flat look. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Don’t hide the juicy details from me.”
I glance away, which is apparently answer enough.
Clio lets out the most delighted noise I’ve ever heard in public. “Oh, he was magnificent.”
I cover my face with one hand. “Please lower your voice.”
“I physically cannot lower my voice.”
I’m laughing now, helplessly, and I hate that she’s enjoying this so much. “He’s gone,” I say, quieter. “It was just the flight.”
She sobers a little at that, enough to really look at me. “But you’re still thinking about him?”
Yeah. Obviously. I think about the way he stared at me obsessively. Like he saw right through the armor and what was underneath. About that rough, velvety voice in the bathroom, the way he took his time and made me feel wanted without asking for anything after.
Which probably makes him more dangerous than the men who do.
Clio’s expression softens. “Oh, honey, come here.” I let her tug me toward the register, still warm from embarrassment, caramel, and memory as she buys some candy.
Outside, the air is soft, thick with salt, traffic, and dinner somewhere nearby. Inside my chest, Ace is still there. Annoyingly. Vividly. One bag of chocolates and a filthy smile, and apparently I’m ruined.
Clio glances at me as we walk. “You think he’s your scent match?”
I glance back at the shop one last time, convinced he might be my scent match, and that’s the part that hurts the most. “He lives on Oahu, and I got off that plane while he was asleep because I panicked. I’ve searched ‘Ace on Oahu’ and found absolutely nothing useful.
He doesn’t have my new number, and I don’t have his.
Maybe that’s just how this goes.” I shrug and try to ignore the ache in my chest.
“Or,” Clio says.
“No.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying, and no.” I straighten a little.
“I’m not dragging someone into my current mess.
That’s why I left. I’m not turning other people into targets because I made the mistake of working for and sleeping with the wrong man.
” I study her. “Including you, which is a separate conversation we should probably have.”
For once, she doesn’t push. One of the things I love most about Clio is that she knows when to argue and when to let something go.
“Okay,” she answers softly. “But if we find him—”
“We’re not looking.”
“I know.” A pause. “But if.”
I take her hand and tug her toward the food court. “Feed me,” I say. “Then show me the corkboard.”
Over an hour later, we’re back at Clio’s apartment, arms full of takeout and plastic bags cutting into my fingers.
Clio shoulders the door open and calls out, “We’re back, we have food, and before anyone says a word, yes, I got extra rice.”
Aura, Clio’s younger sister, appears in the kitchen doorway like she’s been summoned by the phrase extra rice alone. Her eyes go straight to the bags, and then she’s crossing the room and rescuing half of them from my arms.
“Obviously you got extra rice,” she says to Clio.
“Thank you,” Clio says, deeply vindicated. “I enjoy being understood.”
Four days in this apartment and I already like the rhythm of them. The way they move around each other without fuss. The way Aura acts like she’s not paying attention while noticing absolutely everything.
I follow them in and glance toward the living room, where two people I don’t know are already sprawled across the furniture.
The woman in the armchair is somewhere in her fifties, all sun-warmed skin and silver-streaked dark hair twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a faded tank top and linen pants. A half-finished scarf spills over her lap as she knits.
“Malia,” Clio says, waving a hand at her as she kicks the door shut behind us. “Retired marine biologist. Knows everything about the ocean and loves knitting, so expect to receive a hat or scarf soon. And she’s the one who suggested the current main case we’re working on now about Rebecca Hana.”
I smile. “Great to meet you.”
“You too, lovely. You’re going to adore our little group.”
“And this,” Clio chimes in, “is Priya. Paralegal. Human disclaimer. She’s here to tell us when our plans are illegal. Plus, like the rest of us, she loves murder mysteries.”
Malia is nodding, smiling, while Priya glances up from her phone.
She’s still in business clothes at this hour, dark hair sleek over one shoulder, warm brown skin glowing under the apartment lights, and a pair of gold hoops flashing when she turns her head.
Everything about her looks neat and deliberate, right down to the pen tucked behind one ear.
The smile she gives me is quick and kind.
“Technically illegal,” she says. “There’s usually nuance.”
“Is there?” Clio asks.
“No,” Priya says. “But it makes me feel better to say it that way.”
“Well, this is Adelaide.”
I laugh before I can help it.
“Hi there,” Pryia pipes in. “Clio talks about you constantly.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mixed reviews,” she says pleasantly.
Clio gasps. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” Aura adds from the kitchen.
“I support that claim,” Malia says, lowering her knitting and smiling.
Clio points toward the ceiling in betrayal. “I live in a hostile environment.”
“You created it,” Aura calls back.
By then, containers are hitting the counter, lids are coming off, and the whole apartment starts smelling so good I nearly lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.
Pulled pork, mac salad, dumplings, and fried rice.
The honey garlic chicken Clio bought was because she has no self-control in food courts, which I can’t even criticize considering I almost opened the bag in the parking lot.
We all start moving at once, food passed around, everyone reaching over everyone else, filling our plates.
I load up mine and end up on the couch beside Priya, and it happens so easily I barely notice it at first, that quiet slipping-into-place feeling. No big moment, just space made for me like it was always there, which is nice.
“So,” I say, because the corkboard in the corner with the words, The Mai Tail Mystery Club, is grabbing my attention. “Clio said there’s a case you’re all working on.”
Priya swallows a bite of rice. “There’s always at least one.”
“Two, currently,” Clio adds, already perking up. “But one is clearly superior.”
“That’s not how investigations work,” Malia adds.
Clio laughs and sets her plate down, then heads for the corkboard with the unmistakable air of a woman who has been waiting all day for an audience even though she had one on the bus tour.
She grabs a marker off the shelf and uncaps it like she’s about to deliver a keynote.
“This,” she says, tapping the middle of the board, “is Rebecca Hana. Missing for a year. Official theory says she left voluntarily.”
“She left her car,” Priya says.
Malia points at the board with half a dumpling. “And her wallet was left in the car.”
“And all her clothes and belongings were still in her apartment,” Aura adds as she takes a seat on another single sofa.