“I’m sure he’s not ignoring you on purpose.”
She tossed me a dubious look. “Has Aiden said anything?”
“Uh, no…”
“Lame.” Brooke jiggled her hips to slide the tight satin over her bottom. “If Aidenisthere tonight, you need to look your best. Oh! I know just the thing!” She clapped her hands as she bounced on her toes. “Makeover!”
“No.” I held up my palm before her latest idea went any further. “Absolutely not.”
Brooke’s face fell. “But—”
“No way. This isn’t a teen movie montage where you dress me up, take off my glasses, and suddenly all the guys in town notice me.”
Brooke pouted. “Will you at least change into something not covered in stinky milk puke? I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear. You’re taller, but we’re probably about the same size. Well, except for the boobs.” She grinned. “Here.” Metal squeaked as she ran clothing hangers along the rails. “Thiswould look great on you.” She held up an emerald dress.
I wrinkled my nose. Sequins. Lots of them. “It’s, um… shiny?”
“Everyone can do with a bit of extra sparkle.”
I shook my head. No way was I wearing sequins.
Brooke turned back to her wardrobe, hands on her hips. “Oh!Thisone.” She slipped a hanger off the railing and held out a simple black shift dress for me to inspect. “Modest and boring, and it’s in the funeral colours you’ve liked so much this week. We could pair it with a cute belt or a necklace or something.”
After a few more half-hearted refusals from me and a lot more pleading from Brooke, I caved. With the modesty of an awkward teenager stuck undressing in a school locker room, I peeled off my turtleneck and skirt and slipped the dress over my head.
Brooke stood back, looking me over as she tapped her chin. “You need a little something more. I know just the thing!” She held out a cropped denim jacket. “Chic. Laid-back. Perfect for the bar.”
“Sold.” Anything to get this over with. “Can we go now?”
“Almost…”
Brooke grumbled bitterly when I only agreed to a touch-up of the powder on my face and a fresh swipe of lipstick. The cloud of perfume she spritzed made me sneeze. Finally, she launched a fresh attack, approaching me with a curling iron and a hopeful smile.
Folding my arms, I glared at her. “Nope.”
“But—”
“Double nope.” I let my frustration melt away with a warm smile. “Makeover complete. Let’s go…”
The Old Cellar wasa formidable building at night. Like a scene torn from a gothic horror film, two storeys of sandstone and black trim loomed behind gnarled trees shaking loose autumn leaves.
People swarmed the top balcony and the gardens outside.
I twisted the cuffs of the denim jacket in nervous fingers. Brooke wasn’t kidding. This place was packed. But before I could stammer an excuse to leave, she grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.
“Hey, do you see Harry?” she asked as she dragged me through the crowd. “I hope I haven’t wasted my new dress on a bunch of crusty old pervs.”
Almost tripping trying to keep up with Brooke, I scanned the bar. A herd of men clustered together, eyes glued to the game playing on the screens lining the back wall. Harry’s familiar crop of red hair was nowhere to be seen, but I recognised some of the faces. A couple of the firefighters. The butcher who’d sliced through his finger and needed two stitches, and—God help me—Evan Barnes.
Fear zipped down my spine, speeding my loafers silently across the floor. Putting distance between me and Evan was the only thing that mattered.
In my rush to get away, I almost missed seeing the man who nodded at me as we passed. He had the kind of face that coaxed me to smile back, even though I had no idea who he was. Dimples softened his weathered skin, and his dusty blond hair gave him a boyish sort of charm.
“Brooke, who’s that—” My words died in my throat.
The mystery man nudged the figure hunched beside him at the bar—broad shoulders, dark hair, and a red-checked flannel shirt.
No, no, no.
