Page 4 of My Neighbor's Secret

Ryan continues, “That is, unless you open the door tomorrow and find the former owner dead and fused to his couch. The value might take a hit, in that instance.”

“Ryan Morgan,stop,” Tessa says. This time, she bats her husband’s muscled arm. “Char’s been losing sleep. Don’t torture her.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “One of the few things I know about the place is that the former owner—one Lloyd Graham—didn’t die on the premises.” I also know the man died without an heir, according to the auction write-up—hence, the online auction. After a frenzied bidding war, I “won” the place, sight unseen and in “as is” condition. I did get to see a floorplan diagramin the description. Also, some photos of a similar unit on the fourth floor in the same building. I’ve also been assured there’s no major structural damage, so at least I know whatever fixes or renovations are needed won’t be too complicated or time-consuming. Cosmetic, mostly. But beyond all that, I know nothing else.

The truth is I bought the place on a wing and a prayer, while panicking about the stupid, colossal mistake I’d made. I thought buying the place would help my situation; unfortunately, though, I found out shortly after my purchase I’d only made things worse. And now, here I am, coming off a month of sleepless nights and looking over my shoulder, bound and determined to set things right in time. “Why are you headed to the airport?” I ask Ryan, trying to change the subject. “A work trip or something fun?”

“Well, workisfun to me,” he says. “But it’s both. I’m going to LA to check out a possible new location for Captain’s, and while I’m there, I’m having dinner with the LA Branch of the family.” Ryan and Tessa have been expanding their successful bar in various locations along the West Coast for several years now, and they’ve been killing it.

“Has Maddy had her baby yet?” I ask. It’s hard for me to keep track of all four of Ryan’s siblings and their partners and kids, but I’m pretty sure the woman married to Ryan’s actor-brother, Keane, is at the bitter end of her pregnancy. Tessa threw her sister-in-law a fabulous baby shower several months ago, and since I’ve hung out with Ryan’s various family members at multiple parties thrown at Ryan and Tessa’s house, the mommy-to-be kindly included me on the guest list.

“Maddy’s due to pop in a week or so,” Tessa says. “The whole Seattle Branch is going to fly down there once the baby comes. That reminds me. Would you be willing to house- and dog-sitfor us when we go? I’m sorry to ask, but everyone who normally watches Rudy for us will be going to LA, too.”

“Of course. I’d love to stay with Rudy the Cutie Patootie. By then, I’m sure I’ll relish the chance to stay in a clean and orderly home, after all the work I’ll be doing on the condo.”

“It might be a full week.”

“Call me and I’ll come running for however long you need. I’m unemployed, remember? I’ve got nowhere else I need to be.”

Tessa touches Ryan’s forearm. “Char hasn’t had any luck in her job search yet, babe. While she’s looking for a flight attendant gig, she’s hoping to find something part-time she can do from home to make ends meet. Got any ideas?”

Ryan twists his perfect lips, considering the question. “Not off the top, but I’ll make some calls on my drive to the airport.”

Tessa and I both thank him, and Ryan says he’s happy to help.

“I’d better go, ladies,” he says, looking at his watch. He kisses his wife goodbye and pats me on the head—something he’s been doing to me since meeting me—his way of emphasizing my shortness; and then, the handsome man strides across the large space like he owns the place—which he does, of course, along with his wife and some exceedingly wealthy business partners.

Just when I’m about to look away from Ryan’s retreating frame, the front door of the bar opens, and none other than Brody the Bouncer walks into the bar.Fuck my life.

I can’t let that ghost see me sitting here looking like a haggard hot mess! Even worse, I can’t let him think, even for a second, that I chose Seattle as my temporary new city because I’m hoping to rekindle things withhim.Ha! Whatever it takes, I’m going to make it clear I’ve already moved on from our meaningless fling and mediocre sex. In fact, I’m going to make sure Brody thinks I haven’t given him another thought since sending him that regrettable, stupid text.

2

AUGGIE

“Thanks,” I mumble to the bartender, when he slides a second draft beer in front of me. I shouldn’t have ordered it; I’ve got to study for an upcoming exam when I get back home. But Dad is ridiculously late for the mysterious “drinks” he wanted to have with me, in the middle of a workday, and I’m feeling anxious. Dad couldn’t have asked me here simply to spend quality time with his second son. That’s not a thing for Alexander Vaughn. Even during my childhood, when my parents were still married and supposedly happy, Mom was essentially a single parent to my brother and me, thanks to all the travel Dad “had” to do to build his budding empire.

Sure, Dad swooped in to watch Max’s water polo matches and my swim meets. And he always looked the part in family portraits and Christmas cards. But I can’t remember a single time my father ever wanted to simply talk to me in order to get to know me as a person. That was especially true during the time I had to go to speech therapy as a kid to overcome a stutter. I think, in his mind, that old stammer somehow made me defective. An embarrassment. It certainly doesn’t help that, nowadays, my stutter comes back, now and again, if only subtly, when I’m nervous or stressed.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dad:

On my way. Work meeting went long.

God, I hope I’m only being paranoid and Dad didn’t ask me here to give me some bad news in person. But what else could it be? Dad would never schedule an in-person conversation when a text or phone call would do. Especially with me. I’m far from his favorite person, so sitting down and having a beer with me isn’t how he’d ever choose to spend his valuable time, if something wasn’t up. Frankly, considering the man pays my tuition, I’d have thought he’d want me to get every bang for his buck by attending every possible class, rather than ditching an important one to come here to have drinks with him for no apparent reason.

If I had to guess I think Dad’s going to tell me he’s cutting my brother and me out of his will. I bet when he asked his lawyer to change his will to exclude his now-ex-wife, Ashley, he got the bright idea to exclude Max and me, too. Max doesn’t speak to him at all anymore, and my communications with him mostly revolve around his tuition payments. I’ve tried to talk to him about more than that, of course, but he doesn’t seem interested. Without Max or Grandpa around to serve as a translator for the two of us—a bridge, if you will—it’s become harder and harder for us to find common ground.

Movement at the front door of the bar interrupts my wandering thoughts. But it’s not Dad bursting into the bar; it’s a curvy sprite of a redhead who looks like she’s come to Captain’s to claim winnings on a Powerball lottery ticket. As she bounds into the bar, I can’t help chuckling at her enthusiasm. She’s adorable. Exuberant. Effervescent, I’d even say. The kind ofperson who lights up every room she graces with her presence, including this one.

She reminds me of my first love, Kelly Gessler, actually—the vivacious, freckled redhead who stole my heart at age fourteen at summer camp in June, and then did me the honor of touching my hard dick for the first time as a parting gift in August. Both in terms of her physical looks and general vibe, that redhead is a dead ringer for Kelly.

Hold up.Does this adorable redheadremindme of Kelly Gessler . . . or is sheactuallyKelly, all grown up? She looks to be around my age, so she could be the genuine article. Granted, Kelly’s family moved to Massachusetts after our magical summer together, and I never saw or heard from her after that, much to my teenage heartache. But it’s not far-fetched to think Kelly might have moved back to Seattle as an adult, the same way I did to attend vet school.

With a whoop, the exuberant redhead plants both feet at once, like she’s leaping to safety in a game of “The Floor is Lava.” After sticking her landing, she throws up her arms, wiggles her hips, and shouts, “Let’s get this party started, Crazy Girl!”And that’s it. I’m now convinced she’s Kelly Gessler because that’s exactly the sort of funny, exuberant thing Kelly would have said back in the day. Either way, though, even if this firecracker isn’t Kelly, she’s definitely got my undivided attention.

A female whoop erupts to my left, and the next thing I know, a pregnant brunette has joined the redhead in some bizarre choreography that makes the entire bar, not only me, laugh and applaud. The show doesn’t last nearly long enough, if you ask me. In short order, the two women are hugging and chatting.

I sip my beer and look at the front door, hoping Dad will appear. When he doesn’t, I return my attention to the two women. They’ve left their prior spot now. The redheadis heading one way, perhaps toward the bathrooms, while the brunette grabs a table.

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