Page 4 of Where Happiness Begins

Funny how you can guess the dynamic of a group based on the way they place themselves in a picture. Ethan, smack dab in the middle, his arms wrapped around his friends, Emmett with a shygrin, shoulders hunched, Bong with his fingers in a rock and roll sign, Joe with a straight face in the back, looking like he’d rather be doing anything but this, and Carter outright gone from the camera’s view.

One hand thrown in the air, I take the picture, and once everyone approves of it, I write a message encouraging people to go listen to their debut album, tag them in the story, and post it.

“There,” I say. “All done.”

“You’re the best,” Bong says, taking my hand and placing a kiss with a loud smack on the back of it. I burst out laughing.

“What a gift. Thank you,” I tell him. From the corner of my eye, I spot a figure waving me down from the other end of the bar, probably wanting to close their tab. “Well, duty calls, but it was truly great meeting you all. Best of luck with the album and the tour.”

“Thanks,” the guys say in unison, with Joe staying silent in the back. “Same to you.”

I give them one last smile before leaving.

Once I’m done with my other client, I throw a glance behind my shoulder, and while I still can’t see well from afar, I’d swear I feel a pair of murky green eyes on me.

Chapter 2

My mood is much better today.

I gave myself until the end of last night to sulk over my situation, but by the time I went to bed, I was pretty much done. There are so many things actually worth spending my time worrying about, and money is not one of them.

Taylor Swift’sLoveralbum is blaring through my speaker as I knead the dough I’ve been working on for the past thirty minutes. I’d never call myself a great baker, but it helps put my thoughts in order. I remember being seven years old and breaking into hysterical crying over math homework, and my dad pulling me to the kitchen and draping an apron over my chest before telling me to get the mixing bowls and the flour. He made the best cookies in the entire world, and while I could follow his recipes to a T and never get it quite like he did, I still love the sentiment. Plus, I’ll be going to my accountant’s office later today, and I like to think that my cookies will make her more lenient on me. I know she’s technically only responsible forhandlingmy finances and not for deciding the actual amount that’s in the accounts, but being delusional from time to time has never done me any wrong.

I’m belting out to my favorite song on the album, strands of hair falling out of my bun and into my face, when the music suddenly stops and a robotic voice alerts me of an incoming call. I go over to my phone, then smile when I see the name on the screen. Hands full of flour and dough, I pressanswerwith my elbow, then lean down to grab the phone between my shoulder and ear.

“Nan, hi!”

“Sweetheart, you were taking too long to call,” she says in that raw, deep voice of hers that gives away all the cigarettes she smoked in her life.

I laugh. “We spoke two days ago.”

“Exactly. Beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” She’s also one of my favorite people on this planet.

My grandmother tsks. “I might’ve wanted to hear your voice, but I also wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” I say, already having a feeling where this will inevitably lead to.

“There’s this man who plays darts with me, Gary. Very nice guy. Anyway, he has a grandson—”

I pull the phone away so I can groan in peace.

“I know you probably just made an ugly face, but hear me out.”

“How many times do I need to tell you I don’t need my nana to find me someone?”

“Since you still don’t have a man, I’d say you do need me.”

“Did we just go back to the 1950s?”

“Hush and listen to me.”

That woman will be the death of me. She proceeds to tell me about how this guy is handsome and charming and would make a great match with me. I partially tune her out as I spread my dough on the counter and flatten it.

When I realize she’s stopped speaking, I say, “Thanks. I’ll consider it.”

“You’re a terrible liar, just like your daddy.”

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