Page 4 of Jack

That’s probably what hooked him.

“I like that podcast. She’s supposedly going to name her strongest suspect in this week’s drop. She spent the last four months covering the Mike Grizz murder attempt last year. Think he’ll be at the wedding?”

“Mike Grizz? Maybe. He’s a friend of the groom.” He finished his eggs. “I hope this thing isn’t a circus. With all of Oaken’s superstar music buddies . . .” He shook his head.

“You’re really in the wedding?” Nat pulled out a bottle from the fridge, took off the top, and set it in a bottle warmer on the counter. “Wow.”

“I know, right? But it’s why I have to get there early. Apparently, Brontë has a bunch of events lined up for the bridal party. I might have to learn a dance.”

“Please, please, get a video of that,” Nat said.

“I don’t dance.”

“I know.” She laughed. “Except—didn’t you go to prom with one of Brontë’s friends? I thought I remembered West telling me?—”

“No. I definitelydid not.” He shook his head. “Harper Malone.”

“Didn’t she ask you to the dance?”

“No. She didnot. That was a comment made by my stupid brother Doyle.”

“I’ll never forget the story.” West was laughing.

“Please forget. It’s a chapter I’d like to erase.”

“Why? What was?—”

“She was six years younger than me, that’s what.”

Nat glanced at West. “Clearly, there’s a story.”

“Oh, and it’s good,” her husband said.

“Thanks for that, West.” Jack turned to Nat. “I think I need to hit the road. Thanks for breakfast.”

Nat was laughing. “Don’t be a coward.”

West turned to Nat. “This girl, Harper, showed up at spring break, and Romeo here fell for her completely, not realizing she was?—”

“Still in high school,” Jack said.

“Really?” Nat’s eyes widened.

“Yeah. She was eighteen, but . . .” Jack looked at Nat. “For the record, I didn’t recognize her as Boo’s friend. And I thought she was in college. At least twenty-one.”

“Why didn’t she tell you she was in high school?” Nat asked, checking the bottle. She put it back into the warmer. “What was she thinking?”

“I don’t know. I should have asked, maybe. But the moment I figured it out, I realized she was Pigtails, my little sister’s best friend, and it was . . . bad. So, lesson learned. She’s some big magazine reporter in Nashville now, according to Brontë. Probably, hopefully, she’s forgotten about me.”

“Right.” Nat shook her head. “Nobody forgets Big Jack.”

He gave her a look.

She laughed. “Is she going to be at the wedding?”

He stilled. He hadn’t thought aboutthatpossibility.

“Oh, she’s going to be there,” West said. “With your luck.”