Page 33 of Clued in to Love
“Ooh, fancy. Lucky you. My Secret Santa left me a sticker and an eraser. You scored.” Hugo reached for a chocolate. He was seated with one leg over the bench, stuffing his face with a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “The clue has to be the pub, right?” he asked, unbothered by Olivia’s special gifts.
“But it can’t be because we’re underage. The rules clearly state that every activity has to be family-friendly.” Olivia set the chocolates on the table, striking Hugo from the list of potential Secret Santas.
“Pubs are family-friendly,” Cass replied, snagging a chocolate-covered cherry. “My family always goes to dinner at pubs.”
“I know, I know,” Olivia agreed. “The next clue can’t be tasting beer or anything. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Unless it’s root beer.” Hugo offered her a Cheeto.
Olivia took a chip. “You think?”
“Why not? I reread the rules during math class—so boring—and it states that each location and business must provide age-appropriate options. Root beer is age-appropriate, right?”
“I like it.” Olivia nodded. “What’s the plan? Should we go right after school?”
The group confirmed schedules. Olivia caught Malik’s eye across the crowded cafeteria. He was in line at the salad bar. When he looked up and saw her looking at him, he gave her a faint smile and then quickly busied himself, piling lettuce onto his tray.
“Stop staring.” Hugo punched her in the shoulder and waved in her face to get her attention. “We’re right here in front of you.”
“What? I wasn’t staring.” She gave her body a little shake, trying to not to sneak another glance in Malik’s direction.
“Come on, Liv, we all know you have a crush on Malik.” Hugo chomped on a chip.
“No, I don’t,” she protested.
“But what if he’s your Secret Santa?” Cass teased.
Olivia felt herself blush. Hugo’s eyes were laser-focused on her. Was it her imagination, or did he look almost sad?
TWENTY
MARISSA
William was late. Shocker. Marissa shouldn’t have expected much from him. As a Graff, he was probably used to people waiting on him. She wondered what his excuse was going to be.
His staff hadn’t cooked his lunch to perfection, or his tray of fancy crackers and assorted caviar had been delivered to his private quarters late?
She imagined him padding down the hallway of his luxurious estate in a well-cut suit, charming the kitchen staff for a bottle of champagne to accompany his lunch.
Must be nice.
She chuckled at the thought and studied the menu while she waited.
They had tried to get into Deschutes last night, but the line had stretched around the block, and there was a waiting list of twenty parties. William had even used his family connections to see if they could get an open seat at the bar, without any luck. Between the holiday festivities and the Passport kickoff party, the already popular brewery had been bursting at the seams.
It sucked for their progress, but they had agreed to meet for a happy hour. Marissa checked her watch. Where was he?
Deschutes was a quintessential Bend hangout with slanted wood ceilings, keg barrel tables, and exposed brick walls. A Christmas tree made entirely from beer cans lit up the entryway. The restaurant smelled like hops, winter stew, and fresh-from-the-oven pretzels.
Marissa’s stomach gurgled with hunger as she searched the bar for any sign of William.
Every minute he didn’t show was wasted.
She scanned the menu, hoping to piece together the puzzle.Pub paparazzi. What did it mean? There were no veiled photo drinks. There was no sign of a photo booth or a camera crew. They had to be missing something.
A waiter stopped at her table. “Anything sound good? Do you need recommendations?”
“I’ll take a pint of your winter ale.” Marissa pulled up the Passport app on her phone. “You haven’t seen any paparazzi around, have you?”
