Until You Say Stay (The Midnight Men #2)

Chapter 1

LARK

“Ten bucks says Jack Midnight hooks up with at least one bridesmaid before the night’s over,” Jayson says, sliding into the seat next to me, a beer in hand and a grin on his face.

The chef whites that he usually sports at the Black Lantern have been replaced by a suit that actually fits him pretty well.

I follow his gaze to where Jack Midnight stands with three of his brothers—Theo, Alex, and Dominic, the four of them looking like Dark River royalty in their wedding attire.

Jack’s laughing at something Alex said, perfectly at ease in a charcoal suit that fits like it was custom-made.

Which it probably was. No tie, top button undone, dark hair looking effortlessly tousled.

Like he just rolled out of bed looking like a goddamn movie star, which is deeply unfair to those of us who spent two hours on our hair.

“You’re terrible,” I tell Jayson, but I’m smiling.

“Just making observations based on historical data,” he says, taking a sip of his beer and nodding toward the Midnight brothers. “The guy has a very consistent track record. So what do you say, ten bucks?”

“Hmmm.” I set my champagne flute down and lean back in my chair.

“That’s a sucker’s bet and you know it. Jack Midnight at a wedding with an open bar?

It’s a sure thing. But I guarantee it won’t be me.

Been there, almost fell for that, and learned my lesson before I could make a complete fool of myself. ”

Jayson’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, well, well. Lark Reyes, you’ve been holding out on me. There’s a story here I haven’t heard.”

“Not much to tell, honestly. We flirted at Susan’s memorial last year,” I say, remembering that night with perfect clarity.

“And then I watched him leave with a leggy blonde approximately thirty seconds after I went to the bathroom. Which was a good reminder of why you never fall for a fuckboy’s act, no matter how good the act is. ”

“Smart woman,” Jayson says with a nod. “Saves you a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“Exactly,” I say with a shrug, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers.

Across the lawn, my best friend Maren is standing near the dessert table with her new husband Calvin, the second oldest Midnight brother.

Her dress is this flowing ivory lace that seems to glow in the evening light, making her look like something out of a fairytale.

Calvin can’t stop looking at her, like he’s physically incapable of glancing away for more than three seconds.

“Look at them,” I say, nodding toward the couple. “They’re in their own little world.”

“The honeymoon phase in full effect,” Jayson says. “Though with those two, I think it might be permanent.”

“Good. If anyone deserves a perfect love story, it’s Maren.

” I watch as Calvin whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh.

My heart gives a little squeeze of happiness for her.

And maybe something else too. Not jealousy, never that with Maren.

But as a hopeless romantic with a shitty ex-husband under my belt, maybe just the wish that someday someone would look at me like that. Like I’m their whole world.

The Midnight family property stretches around us, the grand old Victorian house behind us and the Sound glimmering beyond the bluff’s edge. Maren and Calvin spent the past year renovating the place, and it shows. The house that was practically falling apart now looks like something from a magazine.

Another burst of laughter cuts through the chatter and I glance over. Becca Chapman, who teaches the yoga class Maren keeps trying to drag me to, has somehow made her way to Jack’s side. She’s touching his arm and laughing way too hard at whatever he just said.

I get it though. The guy is objectively gorgeous.

Even back in high school he was hot, though he was barely ever there.

Always off at some racing thing in Europe or wherever.

But when he was around? He had this magnetism that made all the guys want to be him or fight him, and all the girls want to date him. Including me, if I’m being honest.

Now, at twenty-six, after one divorce and a whole lot of therapy, I’m definitely smart enough to keep my distance.

Becca laughs again, high and flirty, and Jack leans in with obvious interest. Some things never change in the world of Jack Midnight.

“Someone’s having a good time,” Jayson comments, following my gaze.

“Apparently.”

“Hey, speaking of the youngest Midnight,” Jayson says, leaning forward conspiratorially, “did you see that video of him last month? The one with the cocaine and the model?”

I grin. Four years of working together at The Black Lantern bar means that Jayson and I have perfected the art of talking shit while looking professional.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “Hard to miss.” The video had been everywhere for like two weeks.

Short clip, only about thirty seconds, but it was enough.

Jack at some glitzy party in Monaco or wherever rich people go to be terrible.

Cocaine visible on a glass table, some wild out-of-control scene.

Classic tabloid fodder, except this time with Dark River’s very own Formula One racing star.

Our tiny fishing town’s claim to fame beyond the seafood and rainy weather.

“Maren showed me when it first went viral,” I continue, watching Jack across the lawn. “Calvin was pretty stressed about it. I think he was worried about Jack’s contract situation and the sponsors pulling out or something.”

But I don’t think anyone was really surprised.

Jack had always been the wild one, the partier, the one who pushed every limit.

He was the baby of the family who could get away with murder because everyone loved him too much to stay mad, though he’d never been caught with hard drugs, and even I was a little surprised by that.

You couldn’t see him actually doing anything in the video, but just being there, standing that close to it while it was all happening? Not a good look.

“Can’t blame Calvin for worrying,” Jayson says. “Sponsors don’t typically love it when their drivers get caught partying with illegal substances on camera.”

I nod in agreement. But you couldn’t tell any of that stress from looking at Jack now. He looks completely relaxed, laughing like nothing in the world could touch him.

“Enough about Jack Midnight,” Jayson says. “How’s the music going? Any progress with that label?”

Ugh. Not the subject change I was hoping for.

My clutch suddenly feels heavy in my lap. The email from Maya at Tidal Records that I’ve read approximately forty times since it arrived earlier this week is burning a hole in my phone. She’d reached out after my last video hit 300K views, which was huge for me.

“Oh, you know,” I say, forcing my voice to stay light and casual.

“I just need to somehow become a social media superstar and a flawless live performer in the next few months. No big deal. I’m also thinking about learning Latin and solving cold fusion in my spare time.

Why not take on all the impossible tasks at once? ”

“Sounds like you have it all handled,” Jayson says. “Very casual, very achievable.”

“Oh yeah, I’m the picture of confidence. Just call me Olivia Rodrigo Junior,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ll have it all figured out by Tuesday.”

Maya and I had a phone call a few days before the detailed email, and Maya had been enthusiastic about my sound.

She’d used words like “fresh” and “authentic” and “marketable,” which had made my hands shake with excitement.

But then came the requirements list that felt like a bucket of cold water.

They need me to quadruple my social media following at the bare minimum.

“We need a gimmick for your singing videos,” Jayson says thoughtfully. “Something to make them go crazy viral. Everyone at the Lantern could help. Eleanor would probably love to make a cameo, and you know the Romance Raiders would be all over it.”

I smile despite the anxiety sitting in my stomach like a rock.

“That’s not a terrible idea. Get the seventy-something book club ladies in the background of my videos.

Very on-brand.” I take another sip of champagne.

“Then I just have to figure out how to fix my stage fright so I don’t throw up during an actual live performance. Small details.”

“Easy,” Jayson says with a grin. “We’ll get you drunk first.”

“That’s your solution to everything.”

“Because it works.”

“Very professional,” I say dryly.

“Look, I’m just saying, a little liquid courage and you’ll be fine.”

I laugh, but even now, almost two years after my divorce was finalized, my ex husband Brandon’s voice still echoes in my head at the worst moments.

You’re embarrassing yourself. The music thing is just a hobby, Lark.

It’s never going to happen. Stop being unrealistic.

The bastard’s words still have power, all these years and thousands of dollars in therapy later.

Laila bounds over, Maren’s golden retriever wagging so hard her entire back end moves with her tail. She’s wearing a little flower collar that matches the wedding colors.

“Look who it is! Who’s the best wedding dog in the entire world?” I lean down to scratch behind her ears and she presses against my legs so enthusiastically she nearly knocks my chair backward.

“Whoa!” Jayson reaches out to steady my chair, laughing. “Incoming!”

“Laila, baby! Careful with the guests!” Maren calls, hurrying over with a laugh. She kneels down in her wedding dress, not caring at all about grass stains or wrinkles, and ruffles Laila’s ears. “You’re being so good, aren’t you? The absolute best girl.”

“She’s been making the rounds,” I tell Maren, grinning. “I’m pretty sure she conned at least three different people into sharing their cocktail shrimp earlier.”