Page 215 of One Wild Wish

His arms hung limp at his sides. Instinctively, I wrapped mine around my waist. “I work at an adoption agency, placing babies in homes.”

“Wow.” He jolted slightly, his voice low and heavy. “That’s amazing. Do you love it?”

Even talking about it had me grinning. “I never expected to find a career that fulfilled me like this, but it’s so rewarding. As painful as those student loans and school headaches were, it was worth it. I found my purpose.” To give kids loving families and the childhood I never had.

He was frowning again, like my success upset him. “I’m happy for you,” he said, no happiness in his flat tone.

A chill descended between us. It was easy to get carried away with this newness, kissing in the street, flirting, but this awkward interlude was a reminder how little we knew about each other. It was also easy for him to say he could forgive me and move on from our past. Actions spoke louder than words, and his body language screamed wary .

I should take his lead and focus on finding my father, not on pole vaulting and August Cruz. Although pole vaulting with August Cruz was a notion I could get behind. Or in front of. Or underneath.

Instead I pulled my Badass PI badge from my purse. “Tonight I’m not an adoption agent. Tonight we’re private investigators hot on a trail.”

He latched onto my attempt at levity and dug his badge from his jeans pocket. He held it up between two fingers. “I take my PI work seriously.”

“Want me to sew it on your shirt?”

“I doubt you have a needle and thread in that tiny purse, and I’ve seen you sew, Gwen. You’d likely pierce my nipple.”

He was referring to the stuffed monkey I’d made in eighth grade, otherwise known as Mutant Monkey.

I maneuvered my Coach shoulder bag, the compact stunner a donation from Ainsley’s collection. Fancy yet functional. I pulled out a mini sewing kit. “For emergencies.”

PI badge wedged between his fingers, he covered his nipples with both palms. “You’re not coming near me with that.”

“Jimmy has piercings. All the cool kids are doing it.”

He mock-snarled. “Unless you want to wake up with a tarantula in your bed, I suggest you back away.”

I gave him my best sleazy eyes. “Just one poke. It’ll feel so good.”

He hissed in a sharp breath, my unspoken that’s what she said joke hitting its mark. A mark I should avoid. This addictive flirting was getting away from me again. Being with him was too intoxicating, too novel. I couldn’t rein myself in.

August, however, said, “I’ll pass,” and averted his eyes. He shoved his badge back in his pocket and studied the hallway, newfound stiffness in his stance.

So much for my levity.

Ignoring my growing discomfort, I followed his lead and read the community posters on the scuffed-up walls. Each advertisement listed classes, from poetry tutorials to tai chi. Piano still echoed from somewhere, stopping and starting, along with a commanding female voice. Up a set of stairs was a glass case that held photos and pottery.

Pretending August’s distracted state wasn’t distracting me, I pushed past him, led by the sporadic music, but the glass case drew my focus. Most stored photos were yellowed, filled with legwarmer-clad girls and mullet-haired boys. Eighties and nineties styles. Some looked even older, bell bottoms and peace symbols dating them. I wondered for the millionth how teenage Mary Hamilton had hung out in a place like this.

I abruptly muted that thought. She wasn’t why I was here. She was a lead and nothing more, a path that could end at my father’s door.

I scanned the faces in each photo, searching for her. If she was in here, he might be as well. One showed actors in a low-budget play, another framed a handsome man playing guitar, which reminded me of the silent presence at my back. I stayed focused on the photos, assessing if any men had one eye slightly rounder than the other or a freckled lip. Not that my attributes were necessarily DNA linked, but I was working with limited resources.

Next was a picture of three girls doing a jazz lunge, arms wide, legwarmers on, hair flying as though they’d finished a wild spin. My eyes skimmed past the photo but snapped back.

Two girls looked familiar, the middle one in particular. The one with the wide smile and bright eyes. Holy shit. “That’s my mother…and I think my aunt.”

August moved to my side and bent forward to study the picture that had me gawking. “You sure?”

The smile—no, my mother’s joyous glow —wasn’t familiar, but her narrow features and long face were unmistakable. My aunt was less recognizable. I’d never met her, but I’d found a few photos when packing my mother’s belongings. They resembled each other, my Aunt Sarah only a year younger than my mother. A recluse who’d moved to the East Coast.

Aunt Sarah used to send me a yearly birthday card. The only family member who’d gone out of her way to show she cared. One card a year for eleven years. Until my mother had gotten into a fight with her.

I’d overheard a phone conversation shortly after receiving her last card. Just the end, but it had been enough: Mary hissing into the phone, telling her sister not to call again. That as far as she was concerned she was an only child. The birthday cards had ceased after that. I hadn’t realized how much they’d meant to me until they’d stopped.

It was likely another reason I hadn’t felt I’d deserved August’s friendship. No one had stuck around in my life, not my aunt or my grandparents. I’d believed I hadn’t been worth loving.