Page 22 of Singled Out
No doubt one of those photos would reach my boss, but there was nothing sexual about the moment, and I wouldn’t apologize for it.
Even if I’d likely have hot, bothered dreams all night starring Harper.
Midnight had come and gone, and we were almost back to Harper’s house. She’d been chattering the whole ride home about inconsequential topics, some recapping the gala, others just random thoughts that seemed to cross her mind out of nowhere. She was either decompressing from the stressful night or avoiding sad thoughts of Naomi or both.
I didn’t mind it, and I commented whenever it was appropriate. I was enjoying the peek into her admittedly all-over-the-place mind. She was smart even though she wasn’t a fan of school. She was well-rounded and had experienced a lot of things, even if a formal event in a large city wasn’t one of them. And she made interesting observations that never would’ve occurred to me.
When we approached her driveway, she went quiet, as if she was all talked out and ready for the night to end. I turned in and noticed out of the corner of my eye when Harper stiffened in the passenger seat, her attention focused on the house down the half-mile-long driveway.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my gaze following hers.
“I didn’t leave any lights on. I never do. I always forget.”
The windows in front and on the driveway side were dimly illuminated. I noticed a car by the detached garage that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Whose car is that?” I asked as I stopped even with the front walkway.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Is the studio open?”
She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be. No one has keys except me.”
We couldn’t see the entire studio from here because the house blocked half of it, but the part we could see was dark.
“I wonder…” she said, her voice trailing off uncertainly. “The only person I can think of is Naomi’s brother.”
“Are you expecting him?”
She shook her head, her gaze back on the house. “I mean, we kind of expected him to show up for Naomi’s funeral, but he never did. No one has heard from him since she died.”
I frowned, instantly suspicious. “You think he has the keys to Naomi’s house?”
“He’s half owner.” Harper released her seat belt and picked up her bag.
“How well do you know him?”
“I’ve never met him. They weren’t close.”
“I’m coming in with you,” I said, all kinds of warnings going off in my head.
When she didn’t argue, I knew she was uneasy too. As we walked to the front door, though, she said, “I’m sure I’ll be okay. You need to get home to Daniel.”
“Dakota’s doing just fine.” My sister had texted me a selfie of her and Danny at story time, reading Goodnight, Moon, and another fuzzy shot taken by the light of the night-light in Danny’s room, showing him asleep in his crib. “Keys?” I held my hand out.
Harper handed them over. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, entering before Harper could.
The light came from the room to the left, opposite the kitchen. As soon as we shut the door, I saw a large man sprawled on his stomach on the sofa. He muttered something unintelligible. On the coffee table in front of him was a cocktail glass and a mostly empty bottle of scotch. The guy rose to his elbows and slowly opened his eyes, looking as if he’d been in a fight, his hair a mess, dress shirt untucked and wrinkled, suit pants slightly off-center and also wrinkled.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his words not entirely clear, but I couldn’t tell if sleep or alcohol was to blame.
I stepped in front of Harper. “Same question for you.”
“I asked you first,” he slurred, confirming scotch was the cause.
“Ian?” Harper said, stepping up beside me.
The way his head popped up told me that was his name.