Page 6 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

Chapter Four

Ethan

When we exit the office, the vibrant sounds of the city at lunchtime surround us. The bistro, conveniently close to both our office and my penthouse, suddenly seems less welcoming—almost as if it’s the setting for an unwelcome event rather than my home. I push my hands into my pockets and slump my shoulders, moving forward with a sense of resignation. “Knowing our luck, we might’ve run out of ideas by now,” I grumble, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Max throws an arm around my shoulders, steering me down the sidewalk. His grip is firm, grounding, and I find myself leaning into the comfort of his presence. “Ah, come on,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “We’re two reasonably intelligent, occasionally adult-like individuals. We’ll concoct a plan with such cunning and deceit, it’ll make Machiavelli look like a choirboy.”

I snort, because that’s exactly what we’ve done through the years. Plan, execute, and get away with whatever we want.

We weave through the lunchtime crowd, the city’s pulse momentarily distracting me from the disaster at hand. The bustling energy of the streets, the snippets of conversation floating by, the honking of impatient drivers—it all blends together into a comforting sort of white noise. For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, my mind drifting away from the impending doom of my parents’ visit.

The bistro materializes ahead, quaint and inviting, its aroma wafting out to greet us like an old friend. The scent of freshly baked bread and savory spices makes my stomach growl, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

As we claim our usual table, the gentle clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation create a backdrop to our plotting. I sink into my chair, my leg bouncing nervously under the table. Max flags down a waiter and orders us both the house special without consulting the menu—or me, for that matter. It’s usually some sandwich with a side.

“So,” he begins, folding his arms on the table. His expression turns serious, his brow furrowing in thought. “Illness is too cliché, and a sudden business trip is too suspect. You need something believable . . . yet tragic. Like discovering you’re the long-lost prince of a small, war-torn country.”

“It’ll be more believable if we say I’m going to save the prince.”

He shakes his head. “We need more than that. Your girlfriend was kidnapped in the middle of a jungle.”

I raise an eyebrow, my lips twitching with amusement despite myself. “And the Oscar for best screenplay goes to . . .”

“Hey, desperate times, man.” Max grins, but his eyes are sharp, analytical. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he tries to come up with a solution. “We need something plausible. What if . . . what if you’ve taken up a noble cause? Something so urgent and time-consuming, your parents couldn’t possibly intrude.”

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Like what?” I ask, my voice skeptical. “Saving the whales? Building a new firehouse downtown?”

Max snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up. “That’s it,” he says, his voice excited. “You’ve joined a volunteer organization. Something that requires all your free time and energy. You’ll be traveling over the weekends to help. Your parents can’t possibly fault you for that.”

As I consider the idea, I find myself nodding slowly. It’s not half-bad, actually. My parents have always been big on giving back to the community. They might actually buy it.

“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word as I mull it over. “That could work. But what kind of volunteer organization? It has to be something believable.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, my brow furrowed in thought.

Just as Max opens his mouth to respond, the chime of the bistro’s entrance bell interrupts us. Two women walk in, and one of them drags my attention. She walks toward the table nearby and it is as if the room itself exhales, adjusting to accommodate her presence.

Her dark hair cascades in gentle waves, catching the soft lighting in a way that creates an ethereal glow around her, as if she’s been touched by an angel’s grace. She moves with an elegance that’s captivating, her steps measured with poise, commanding the space around her without a word.

Her features are harmonious, a natural balance that doesn’t scream for notice yet is undeniably charming.

Her eyes, expressive and inviting, carry a spark of intelligence and warmth, making it easy to imagine losing hours in conversation with her. The softness of her cheeks, complemented by the natural light, adds to her approachable vibe, while her smile, slight but genuine.

She’s probably one of those women who always looks at everything in a positive light.

I can’t seem to stop watching her, my gaze lingering on her every move. My heart races, and I feel a flutter in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nervousness. I wonder what it would be like to talk to her, to hear her voice and learn more about the person behind the enchanting exterior. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, but I can’t shake the feeling that this woman could be someone special.

As I continue to watch her, lost in my thoughts, the waiter arrives at our table, placing our food in front of us. The aroma of my grilled chicken sandwich wafts up, making my stomach growl in anticipation, momentarily pulling me back to reality.

I’m about to take a bite when suddenly, a burst of laughter from the nearby table breaks through, catching my attention. I pause, sandwich halfway to my mouth, and tilt my head slightly to listen to the conversation next to me.

“Trust me, Zoe, everything's going to be okay,” the beautiful woman assures her companion with a steady voice.

“You cannot hit up these men you haven’t seen in years with a fucking photo album for them to sign,” her companion’s, Zoe presumably, incredulous reply is tinged with amusement. “Lily, are you for real?”

Lily bursts into laughter, the sound bright and carefree. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

Intrigued, I glance up, feigning interest in the chalkboard menu behind her, but really, I’m all ears now. The bistro fades into soft focus, the aromatic scent of freshly baked bread giving way to the intriguing spectacle unfolding beside me.

“I’m visiting each and every one of them,” Lily announces. “It’s time to find out where I went wrong—or right.” Her tone is playful, but I can sense a steely resolve beneath her words, and I find myself intrigued.

---