Page 1 of Alive At Night

CHAPTERONE

julian

THE WOMAN IN FRONT of me at my bustling neighborhood cafe made at least six modifications to her vanilla latte.

Six.

I’d thought she was done after four, but then she reared up from looking at her phone, almost swiping me with that larger-than-life bow on top of her head, and tweaked her order twice more. I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying, but for every addition, she put a finger up, counting them so she wouldn’t accidentally leave one out. Or two, apparently.

After the woman paid an ungodly amount for a cup of coffee—if it could even be called that—she swung her heart-shaped purse over her shoulder and cheerily thanked the barista. As she walked to the end of the counter in a whirlwind of bouncy fabrics, an entire goddamn bouquet of floral scents overtook the lingering smell of coffee beans in the air.

Fleetingly, it reminded me of childhood summers on the Cape.

It also reminded me of—no, that couldn’t be.

“Sir?”

“Sorry,” I rasped, stepping up to order my coffee. My plain, black coffee.

Coffee was one of those things in life that was supposed to be simplistic. I liked my coffee black, my beer cold, and my whiskey neat. Beyond that? It could be from the bottom of the barrel, and I wouldn’t give a damn. Life ain’t cheap, and after putting myself through years of law school, I’d learned that a hit of caffeine or a shot of booze did the same trick, no matter the quality.

My drink was ready when I reached the other end of the counter. But when I went to grab it, manicured fingers simultaneously wrapped around the cup.

“Oh!”

The woman, still armed with her heart-shaped purse, jumped back like the thought of touching a stranger disgusted her, and I took advantage of that by sweeping my coffee from her claws. Despite her initial surprise, she didn’t give up easily.

“I think—I think that might—”

One of her peachy fingernails began tapping my coffee cup. I might have paid attention to what she was pointing at if I weren’t distracted by how familiar her voice sounded.

I followed that fingertip to her hand and the delicate dangling bracelets on her wrist before finally locking my eyes on her face.

I was wrong. Itcouldbe her.

Itwasher.

Just my luck.

“Trying to steal my drink, Daisy?” I rocked back on my heels and watched with satisfaction as her eyes snapped up, too. And instantly, all that stumbling innocence drained from her voice.

“Julian?” Her nose scrunched as she processed whose coffee she was trying to steal. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

I raised a brow. She was so shocked she hadn’t even argued about being called Daisy. And now we were both shocked.

“You’re right. I’msupposedto be on my way to my first day of work. But I had to wait while you created a whole new drink with your order.”

If there was one constant in my life, it was that Juniper St. James would always be the pain in my ass. The thorn in my side. The gatecrasher of every childhood birthday party I ever had. The person holding up the line at the coffee shop.

She was only one year younger than me but somehow always seemed to be one step ahead of me. All the damn time. And God, wasn’t that annoying.

“A drink which you are withholding from me.” She pointed again to the cup in my hands.

I didn’t give it up. “This is mine,” I said flatly.

“Move your thumb,” she said, mimicking my tone.

With a sigh, I slid my thumb down an inch to reveal—shit.

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