Page 12 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

“They won’t know. At least, not until I’m back.” She leans closer, lowering her voice surreptitiously. “They’re pretty judgmental and swear that as the youngest, I do stupid things.”

“Asking questions and searching for answers is not stupid.”

“Exactly,” she says enthusiastically, her face lighting up with excitement.

“So, in my opinion, we should start with whoever lives here before we head to our next town,” I suggest, my mind already mapping out our plan of action.

“So we start with Jeff, the barista poet?” Lily’s voice pitches high with enthusiasm, and I can’t help but smile at her eagerness, my own heart rate picking up at the prospect of our adventure. “Jeff with haikus for every coffee order.”

“Sounds like a character,” I say, my eyebrows raising in amusement as I imagine the quirky barista. “This should be interesting.”

“Character is one way to put it,” Lily laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s say you order a cappuccino, he’ll say: Cappuccino steam. Whispers of warmth in the air. Morning joy in a cup.”

“I mean, that’s an entertaining way to get your daily coffee,” I try to defend the dude, but really, who does that? “We could start with him. Do you have his address?”

“I’m not sure where he ended up, though. Last time I heard, he was out in California.” She shrugs, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her face.

Okay, so she really has no idea where to go.

“Maybe we could sort your exes by geographic region and go from there,” I suggest, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, my brow furrowed in thought.

We continue to brainstorm destinations for our new project. For a moment, I forget about the weight of my responsibilities and simply enjoy being in Lily’s company, her voice is warm, seeping in and soothing the usual chill of responsibility.

The mention of Derek, the corporate shark, brings me back to reality. “He might not have time for me—he never did.” Lily’s voice wavers slightly.

“We’ll find a way to come face-to-face with him,” I assure her, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know people in all places.” I flash her a confident smile, hoping to ease her concerns.

“Lucky me,” she teases, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Is that part of the Montgomery rescue service package?”

“Only the best for you,” I respond with a grin, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of her smile. She smiles back at me, and I feel a surge of protectiveness wash over me, a fierce desire to help her find the closure she seeks. “What else do you need for the mission? As you can imagine, I have enough resources to figure out things that might not appear in a simple internet search.”

“Resources?” She raises an eyebrow, intrigued by my offer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Consider me your personal Sherlock Holmes.” I smirk, flashing her a conspiratorial grin, my pulse quickening at the thought of being her partner in crime. “I’ll be your inside man.”

“Does that make me Watson?” she giggles, and even though it’s a silly joke, I can’t help but feel drawn to her infectious laugh.

Lily reminds me of Irene Adler, the woman who left a significant impression on Sherlock Holmes in “A Scandal in Bohemia.” However, bringing up such a comparison might be inappropriate.

Is she beautiful?

Gorgeous, without a doubt.

Her beauty is undeniable, but I know I need to keep my distance. Crossing any lines would be a mistake. So I answer, “Yes, that makes you Watson and you know what that means.” I wink at her. “You have to keep me in line when I get too carried away,” I say, my voice taking on a flirty tone as I lean in closer. Internally, I chastise myself.

So much for keeping your distance, fucker.

Lily’s eyes sparkle with amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Deal,” she agrees. “But you’ll have to give me your number first. Can’t have my detective going rogue.” She raises an eyebrow, challenging me.

“Of course.” I nod, as she hands me her phone. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and again, I feel that searing current coursing through my body.

“Expect a lot of updates from me,” I warn, a grin spreading across my face as I program my number and send a text to my phone so I have hers too.

“I’m ready for all of it,” she replies in a flirty tone. Whoa, are we . . . No, this is just professional and something I’m doing to get the fuck out of the area while my parents are invading my space.

As we continue to plan our route, I find myself stealing glances at her and maybe this would be a great time to stop what we’re doing. I have things to do—many—before I leave the office for a few weeks.

“I think we’re done for now,” I say. “Send me whatever else you think we’re missing. If you remember more about these . . . gentlemen, just text it to me so I can create a database.”

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