Mixed Match Page 11

  Everett closed his eyes and shook his head. "Besides, this kind of thing never works out. Starts off great, but eventually you end up not being enough and they move on to the next person. Passed up. Replaced. So why even go there in the first place?"

  Again, the way it did in Sophia’s sad, tragic nursery, the image and sound of Everett’s mother weeping filled his mind. Joseph hadn’t thought twice about leaving his wife or his kids. He just moved on. Found a new family.

  His eyes popped open, and Jack was staring at him with a smarmy smile.

  "I'm sorry to tell you, bud, but you've got it bad, my friend. Sure you don't want the Dixie cup?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Sophia: Is everything okay? I've been trying to reach you, but I haven't heard back. Hope to talk to you soon.

  * * *

  This was it. Hint taken. Sophia drew the line at three texts. If Everett didn't want anything more to do with her, so be it. Because she was not desperate. She'd just...give it ten minutes.

  She stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way of passersby, hiking the bag of ice cream pints tighter under her arm as she thumbed through the icons on her phone. She tapped the one for settings and scrolled down to messages, swiping on her read receipts, just in case, before checking her most recent messages received. There was nothing wrong with her phone, but she did have a new message from a 503 number she didn't recognize.

  503-555-0437: Hey, it's Zora. Want to go to a bar tonight with a couple of friends and me? 7:30 at La Moule. Let me know if you want to come with.

  Slipping her phone back in her pocket, Sophia turned down Broadway headed toward the post office, still deciding. A girl's night out did sound like fun. Maybe she could invite Kara to join them. Based on her last conversation with Kara, she was about as tired of driving around all day to make ends meet as Sophia was of dealing with the whole house debacle.

  But, as fun as it sounded, it involved Zora, Everett's sister. They'd be laughing and drinking, having a jolly good time, then inevitably he would make his way into the conversation and there would go her night. Besides, she had a date with some mint and chips ice cream and the new horror flick on Netflix with the killer clown.

  Dang it. What is the name of that movie?

  Sophia hauled her phone back out to check the app and absently looked up. She walked aimlessly toward the post office to drop off a package return and somehow ended up right in front of the vendor pad she'd shown Julie as the perfect place for her restaurant. It must have been a sign.

  It might have been the coincidence making it feel like there was magic in the air, or the daily emails from Mom, counting down to Sophia's imminent return to Vegas, but a fire lit in her belly, and the thought of calling the number on the sign suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea.

  She punched in the numbers.

  "Hi, yes. I'm at your building downtown off SW Broadway and saw your sign in the window. I'd like to inquire about leasing," Sophia said, wringing her fingers as she paced. She stood in front of the vacant pad in a dilapidated plaza. It wasn't much to look at now, but from what she could see, it embodied everything she wanted. It was a quaint, comfortable place to serve up bites of home cooking with a bit of a Vegas twist.

  "Yes, thank you so much. I'll hold." A bluesy rendition of a Coldplay hit played in the background. As she waited to be transferred, she admired the modern architecture of the building. Slipping the phone between her ear and shoulder, she cradled both hands on the window to block out the glare as she peered through the glass at the exposed ceilings and brick walls. Based on the glass display cases and ornate shelves, it could have either been a nail salon or a clothing boutique.

  It definitely wasn't part of Portland's upper echelon of retail pads, but the place spoke to her. What she saw were good bones. Her imagination immediately went to work filling in her mind's blueprints with a row of bistro tables alongside the far-right wall and family-style seating intermixed. She imagined colorful pendant lights and local art warming the atmosphere. And maybe a fireplace to give it a cozy, welcoming feel.

  "Thank you for calling Monroe Properties, this is Mike. How can I help you?" The man's voice echoed a deep bass and rang vaguely familiar to Sophia, but more than anything, she couldn't shake an eerie feeling that coiled around her when she heard the voice.

  "I'm sorry. Is this Monroe Properties, as in John E. Monroe?" Sophia squeezed her eyes shut. Please say no.

  "One and the same. Kendra said you were interested in leasing our SW Broadway pad, correct?" Sophia's breath lodged in her throat and sort of hung there. "Hello? Are you still there?"

  Mike.

  Well, no wonder.

  A shiver of recognition coursed through her and she could feel her eyes bulge and her mouth fall open. She was more than a little light-headed and chilly. The world narrowed for a moment and she was in one of those cold, sketchy-looking, horror flick hallways that stretched farther away by the second. One minute it was the buzz of fluorescent hospital light dark around the edges, and the next, boom! The bad guy smack dab in front of her. Holy shit. If this Mike was indeed the Mike from Everett's house, then everything finally made sense.

  Sophia pressed her ear firmly to the phone as he spoke again. She needed to hear his voice and remember his face. She listened so closely she could hear the minute din of static prickling on the line. Her own name on his duplicitous tongue reassured her. No wonder he was out to get her. Mike was Everett's friend, but he worked for the man who was working overtime to put her out on the street.

  On the off chance he would remember her from the short time they were in each other's company at Everett's the week before, Sophia altered her voice until it sounded adenoidal and pitchy. "Uh...sorry. I think I have the wrong place," she said quickly, disconnecting the call.

  With a heavy sigh, she took one more look through the window. This was definitely the beginning of an ice-cream-and-horror-movies phase.

  The killer clown did not have the calming effect she'd hoped.

  The rest of the afternoon, Sophia spent with her computer researching restaurant occupancy limits, sign costs, and menu items, which only led her to Google…and back to the Monroes.

  Her search for information about Barbara was trumped by Mike's connection to Monroe Properties. It was a public company, so she began her search on the county assessor's page and weaved her way through to the county clerk and recorder's pages. The business itself, described as a real estate development company according to the land registration office, gradually bought up real property, commercial and residential, over the past few decades.

  And the list was only from the time they incorporated.

  There were a bunch of documents with the names Winthrop Monroe and Barbara Monroe. John only showed up in the past ten years, give or take a few.

  Sophia scooped a spoonful of mint and chips ice cream and stuffed it, along with an Oreo, in her mouth and chewed absentmindedly, deciding there must be something she missed. Deep down, she could feel she was getting close to uncovering something big.

  As she clicked on one of the most recent filed deeds, a title transfer, there at the bottom of the second page was the name Michael Kennedy. He'd signed as power of attorney for the business. Attached was an Oregon Real Estate Power of Attorney, on which, Michael, or rather, Mike was appointed to represent the company on behalf of John E. Monroe.

  "Shit."

  Sophia leaned back in her chair and stuffed two more cookies into her mouth while staring into the distance. She crunched hard into the creamy center as her mind whirled.

  "Why do you want this house so bad, Michael Kennedy? What are you up to?" she said to herself as she picked up her phone and found Julie in her favorites.

  "Hey girl, hey," Julie chirped into the phone.

  "Jules. You know how I told you Everett's friend Mike was being such a dick to me?"

  "Am I supposed to understand what you just said when you sound like some kind of Jurassic freak with rocks
in your mouth?"

  She chewed the rest of her cookies and ice cream and washed it down with milk.

  "What are you eating, anyway?"

  "Ice cream, Oreos, and milk."

  A muffled movement sounded in Sophia's ear. "You know they make cookies and cream ice cream, weirdo. What flavor ice cream?"

  Sophia sighed. "Mint and chips. Now, can we try to stay focused here? I'm trying to tell you something."

  "Oh, okay. As long as it's only mint and chips, fine. Go ahead."

  Sophia wasn't what you would call picky. She didn’t discriminate against any ice cream flavor, but she started to pick up on a pattern indicating certain ones worked as cures for different moods. It was sort of like essential oils, but creamy and delicious. She used ice cream the way people use lavender for insomnia and inflammation, or juniper to strengthen nerves and ease gout symptoms. Mint and chips when she really needed to think, or rainbow sherbet when she was really happy and wanted to keep the good times rolling. But if the problem was really serious, strictly for heartbreaks and flighty, scatterbrained thoughts of offing herself, there was Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream.

  Her whole family knew this, and sometimes they spazzed with over-the-top flavor reactions.

  "Listen Ding-Ding. Everett's friend Mike, the one who was all up in my face the day at his house. He works for John Monroe."

  "As in the fucktard trying to take your house, Monroe?"

  Mike's words echoed in Sophia's head. “One and the same.”

  "Oh, shit. How do you know?"

  Sophia sat up straight. "Girl, I've been digging and diving on the Internet all afternoon. Today I was downtown by Broadway and saw the cute storefront for the restaurant we looked at, so I called the number on the lease sign posted out front."

  "Please say you put down a deposit."

  "No. Just listen. Guess who answered the phone when I called?"

  A loud screech came through the line. "No."

  "Yes. The receptionist transferred me to someone for leasing and Mike answered. I could not believe it. So anyway, after I basically hung up in his face, I got on the Internet and bam! Right there on the screen was Mike's name. Rather, Michael Kennedy, I should say. He's the damn attorney. The power of attorney for Monroe Properties, the bad guy's company."

  "What the—"

  "I know." Sophia shook her head and pursed her lips...as if Julie could see her.

  Julie whistled. "So you know what you've got to do now."

  "Uh, no," she dragged out the last word. The document only proved what she already knew, but there must be more. She didn’t know what she was going to do with this tidbit of information. Heck, she didn't even know if she should still talk to Everett. Not like he’d replied to any of her messages since their dinner last week anyway.

  "Soph, try to pay to attention. You're going to have to pick Everett's brain. Use him to find out more about this Mike character."

  "The thing is…he hasn't called me at all this week. Even though I’ve messaged him, um, once or twice."

  "Is that why you're roaming the streets looking for properties by yourself instead of letting his fine ass take you?"

  Sophia cursed silently. Somehow she'd hoped Julie wouldn't pick up on the little slip of the tongue. "Yeah," she said hesitantly.

  "What happened now? I thought you guys were good after he drove you home."

  "Yeah, about that. I might have shown him the nursery...and cried. Bawled."

  "Lord, have mercy. What the hell is wrong with you? One dinner and you're already telling him your life story, complete with baggage. Seriously, you need to get this under wraps. As your wiser, older cousin by a month, I need you to promise me now you won't keep unloading on this guy. If he ever wants to see you again."

  Sophia rolled her eyes, wishing she could go back to the night and maybe show him a photo album or a tchotchke from her childhood instead of dragging him into the doldrums of her life on their first date. Well, sort of date.

  "On a side note, his sister, Zora, did invite me for drinks at some bar. Let me look at the text again," she said, holding up her phone from her ear and scrolling through the messages.

  "Yep. Right here. At seven thirty. I probably could use a stiff drink after all this.”

  Ice cream and horror movies weren’t going to cut it.

  * * *

  Against the night sky, the black décor and dim candlelight of the restaurant made the room feel shadowy and obscure, like it was guarding secrets. Which was why Everett chose La Moule—to both feed his gloomy mood and drown it in alcohol. Over a week passed since he last saw Sophia, but seeing her now, across the bar and having a good time with Zora, knotted his insides.

  After rereading Sophia’s texts, he turned his phone facedown on the table and slouched into a more comfortable position in the taut leather booth. He propped his arms over the top, letting his knees fall open. This was where the blue balls came in. Just thinking about her made him hard.

  However, regardless of what his body wanted, his moral compass was still pointing due north. Avoidance might have been immature, but it was the only safe way to ensure the compass (not his dick) remained pointing up. It wasn't right to let Sophia keep thinking they were anything other than two people at odds over a house which meant the world to each of them, but for very different reasons.

  He watched as she threw her head back laughing, and the urge to walk over to her left Everett seething. He gritted his teeth, the tightness in his jaw almost painful. He should be the one making her laugh, taking her out, and buying her drinks.

  As soon as the idea hit him, he bit back the temptation.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  As the young waitress passed by, he caught her attention and gulped down the rest of his Pilsner. "I'll have another one, and uh... send one over to the lady at the end the bar, please. The one in the black dress." He lifted his chin toward Sophia and waited for the waitress to single her out.

  "Sure. Should I say who it's from?"

  "No. I just want to watch." And then he did.

  A few minutes later as she accepted the drink, Sophia's back seemed to go rigid. In a slow, nervous turn, she looked over her bare shoulder and scanned the room until her attention landed on Everett. The look she gave him wasn't quite what he'd hoped for, but a potent mixture of knee-jerk excitement lit up her eyes, followed by telltale signs of annoyance. Tight smile. Raised brow. And of course the slow folding of her arms saying your move.

  He was pretty sure the memory of his cowardly exit from the nursery was scrolling across the screen in her head.

  On the outside Everett was cool as a fan, confident, and smugly confident he was winning the staring game. Unblinking, he took a swig from his glass, remembering the kiss they shared while she poured her heart out to him. Here was this strong, beautifully flawed woman who'd suffered unthinkable tragedy, and yet she'd endured. Survived. On the inside, he was both mesmerized by the mere sight of her and appalled at himself because he was about to add to her troubles. Damn the right thing.

  He slid over the bench and out of the booth on a beeline for her. "Sophia." He gripped the bar with both hands without facing her.

  Matching his even tone, she muttered, "Everett."

  "What are you doing here, Ev?" Zora squealed and wrapped him in a bear hug from behind.

  "Hey, Ev," his sister's friends cooed in unison.

  Any other time, he might have shied away, acknowledging them with a nod or a wave, but the opportunity of the situation was not lost on him this evening. Ignoring his happy drunk of a sister, Everett wriggled out of Zo's clutches far enough to greet her friends. "Hey Oli, Remi. How've you guys been doing?" He kissed them each on their cheeks, lingering a little too long to be casual. He layered his efforts on thick with unwavering eye contact.

  If he wasn't mistaken, when he turned, he thought he might have noticed Sophia's smile tighten.

  In his best Denzel move, he leaned against the bar and allowed his st
are to travel from Sophia's legs up to her eyes. "And how've you been?"

  Sophia tossed him a quick glance and immediately turned back to about two fingers of a neon green cocktail and the untouched Pilsner he'd sent over.

  "Okay. I deserve the cold shoulder. I should have responded to your messages." He bobbed his head in admission, but this time when she met his look, a giant "no shit" sign flashed across her forehead.

  "Don't worry. I won't bother you anymore."

  "Fine. I'm an asshole. I admit it. I shouldn't have ghosted you, but I promise, I had my reasons."

  “Oh, well then, of course that makes everything all right.” Sophia folded her arms.

  Zora squeezed into the narrow space between Everett and Sophia. "I love how you guys are arguing like some old married couple," Zora slurred, nudging her brother's shoulder. "Might as well skip all the pretense and just go get a room."

  Not helping, Zo.

  His eyes darted to Sophia's cringeworthy expression, which no doubt equaled the one he was sure twisted his face. Zora let loose a roar of laughter as she turned back to her friends, and the two of them burst into snickers.

  "Can I get you another...what is it? An Amaretto sour?"

  "A Midori sour," she corrected him.

  "I see you didn’t touch the pilsner I sent you.

  Sophia sighed. "I don't like beer."

  It came out louder than she might have anticipated. A light flush crept over her cheeks as she tried to laugh it off. "Did you come over here for any particular reason?" she deadpanned.

  Everett was at a loss. He couldn't very well tell her he'd been a coward and she was the only thing he’d been able to think about since he walked out of the nursery. But he could show her. A loud riff in the music pierced the noise of the crowd, and he took it as a sign.