Page 41 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

Fuck.

He yanked the phone off the nightstand. “This is Mitch.” Perhaps a touch snippy.

“Hey, Mitch, it’s Justin. Did I wake you up?”

“I’m awake now.”

Watch your tone.

Yeah, but fuck it was early. He glanced quickly at the phone.

Nine fifteen.

Holy shit.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late.

“Okay, now I really feel guilty.” The man’s tone clearly indicated such.

Mitch rubbed his face. “Look, Justin, it’s completely fine. Most sane people are awake by now.” Most sane people hadn’t lain awake all night wondering why the fuck they were in their own bed and not that of a beautiful woman just six blocks away.

A little sigh carried across the line.

“Seriously. What can I do for you?” He wracked his brain as he tried to place the name. Oh, right, one of the guys last night. Which one? They’d all been cute, gay, and married. Was he the younger one? Obviously not the Indian guy with the Indian name.

Focus.

“We met last night. At the parade?”

“I remember.” Sort of.

“I was there with my husband Stanley and our son Angus.”

“Right. And your foster daughter was home sick, how’s she doing?”

See? Not a complete asshat.

“Opal’s much better this morning, thanks for asking. She’s home with Stan and Angus—just a quiet day.”

“And you’re at work?”

See? Deductive reasoning isn’tsohard.

“Yes.” The man’s voice had a decidedly pleasant tone. “Anyway, you mentioned you worked in computers and, well, we need help. I called Loriana, and she confirmed you do repairs. To machines,” he clarified.

Mitch again scrubbed his face. “Loriana’s right. Fixing computers is my specialty.” As was writing code, but he didn’t need to share that fact.

“That’s great. Well, it’ll be great if you can help.”

“What’s going on?”

“The computer in our office quit. Like it just gave up. And we kind of need it to, you know, not give up…”

Mitch refrained from chuckling. There might be technical terms for what Justin was describing, but giving up gave him a place to start. “You’ve tried rebooting the machine?”

“Oh yes. And every other trick I know—which admittedly isn’t much. I’m a counselor, not a computer programmer. Or fix-it guy. Or…whatever it is that you do.”

“How old is the computer?”

He hesitated. “Uh, well it’s been here longer than me, and I’ve been here almost five years.”

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