3. Esme

3

ESME

M ust fate be so cruel?

It's been a few days since I've crossed paths with my next-door neighbor who just walked into the Foxy Rox, our local coffee spot. He most definitely deserves someone spilling coffee on him, too.

I sink into my seat at a small table by the window and raise my laptop screen a smidgen, but pretending I can hide will only buy me a minute tops. At least he didn't come in alone. He's with Oliver, and they seem to be talking business, as they are both in suits. Did Keats shave today? I can't tell.

Snap out of it. You don't care.

"Seriously, I promise you, at 2am someone will call that we need to check the contract. They are going to do a player extension and want to finalize that before another team snatches him up," Keats explains to Oliver. I have no clue who they are talking about, and I'm sure I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but this place is quiet considering it's a weekday at 8am.

"I bet you a grand that you're wrong," Oliver counters because these guys have money to blow .

Keats tips his head to the teenager behind the counter as a greeting. "Double shot of espresso." He turns to look at Oliver, but he pauses and his eyes narrow. Damn it. I've been found. "Isn't this going to be a fine day." He's not thrilled as he grinds his teeth and begins to stride my way.

Oliver glances back over his shoulder to see me, and I can hear him utter " Shit" under his breath. "Here goes the next twenty minutes of my life." Oliver turns to the barista. "Can you add a muffin to my order? Might as well get comfortable since I'll be watching my dear old friend have a little lovers' squabble." Right now, I want to throw something at Oliver for that comment, but I need him alive so that one day Hailey can finally live out her fantasy.

Keats and I turn to Oliver with a death stare, and he sighs then walks away. But Keats then daggers his sight to me, and I seem to be a target.

I shut my laptop with vigor and scowl at Keats. "Double shot? Really? Guess you can't manage a bullseye anyhow."

His brow rises. "Considering my ruthless approach to law with an excellent track record, then I'll assume your mind is a little filthy for 8am. So, in that case…" He arrives at my table and sets his hands on the back of the opposite chair. "It's double because why have only one round when you can have two? It leaves everyone satisfied." His innuendo burns me inside with exasperation and curiosity.

"Fine. Espresso as dark as your heart."

"I thought I didn't have a heart. I'm quite positive you've mentioned that once or twice." The barista arrives with his to-go cup, and Keats takes it without batting an eye as they remain staked at me.

I begin to stir the stick in my coffee cup to keep my hands busy. "I don't particularly care to go over the anatomy of your body, right now." I swear I hear Oliver nearly choking .

Keats only takes a moment to glance over at his friend now sitting in the corner before he returns his swaggered eyes to me, the corner of his mouth twitching with an underlying smirk. "Working on your inappropriate-for-public-spaces photos?"

"Are you attempting to have a normal conversation with me?" I say flatly as I look down at the table, pretending to be unaffected. "And they are not inappropriate. Most would consider it art."

"Or classy porn," he rebukes.

That's it. I'm twenty-nine, but where is the maturity in this 33 year-old? He has four years on me. Abruptly, I stand, and he straightens his upper body to ensure we are level, except he is a little taller.

"Not my problem that you can't handle keeping it locked in." My voice rises slightly.

He snickers. "Not my problem you're having a dry spell, which I will assume is the reason that you're a bitter woman."

A sound vibrates under my breath. "Says the man who destroyed my herb garden." I point a finger at him. "Yeah, I'm not buying the whole rabbit overpopulation bullshit."

"Oh, is that not the reason a pile of snow ended up on my driveway right where your sidewalk ends?" His tone is flippant, and he takes an easy sip from his Espresso.

I scoff a sound. "Tell me." I step around the table with my hand on my waist. "Do you use a knife or scissors when you destroy my mail?"

He looks offended, barely. "I would do no such thing for the woman who tips over my recycling bin on garbage day."

"Why do you even bother talking to me? Can't we agree on never saying a word to one another?"

Keats downs the last sip of his espresso. "No can do, Esme. Not until you solve the package situation. I'm a considerate neighbor, but if you'd rather, I could leave your boxes outside your house in the rain or snow. Maybe a squirrel is hungry, too."

I growl, because as much as his ridiculous humor is frustrating, he's right. The last thing I need is camera equipment getting wet. My hands claw my hair because I'm so exhausted from this.

"Clearly, you've cursed my day, and I don't feel like this is the start of the morning that I need, either," he mentions.

We both move in an attempt to walk away, but instead, our feet shuffle, and our effort to step in opposite directions only leads us to the same spot. We both step back, annoyed.

Sighing, I'm debating what to do.

"Have a splendid day. Some of us have to go conquer the world today," he says sarcastically as he begins to walk away.

"With what? Covering for asshole hockey players who cheat?" Shit. Why did I say that? He's going to hound me, and I was saving this information for a rainy day.

Keats stalls and turns sharply back to me. "Say that again?" His voice has a little edge.

A confident and proud smirk spreads on my face. "The photo? I might not have stopped the person who leaked it. In fact, I maybe even helped her pick the right photo."

He closes his eyes for a second, and he seems to be laughing under his breath as he takes in the news, while he shakes his head gently. "Of course you did."

Oliver appears behind him. "You what?"

"Scotty Smith? He cheated."

"And? Why would you care?" Oliver is curious, and he's unreadable.

My eyes run to the side then back at these two men before me. "It was my friend in my photographer group that he lied to. Said he was in the process of a divorce from his wife, while it was clearly not the case. So, a little revenge and one anonymous click on social media seemed only fitting, and I had no problem persuading her to post the photos anonymously. In fact, he can go shove it, considering he wants nothing to do with her and asked her to delete evidence of their weekend getaway a few months back."

It's all spilling out of my mouth, and for some reason, it doesn't feel like the wrong thing to do.

Keats and Oliver look at one another, their faces neutral. But then it happens.

Their faces break, and they laugh, nearly giddy.

I'm puzzled why.

"Thanks for that. Your little activity actually made Oliver and I a lot of money. It's fun when you have extra billable hours." I want to swipe that look of satisfaction off his face. "I mean…" He sets his empty cup on a nearby table. "He kind of had it coming if he cheated, and it did give me a few late hours too many. That little move of yours caused him to no longer be the Spinners' problem and left the door open for a solid player trade."

Oliver sets his hand on Keats's shoulder as his laugh fades off. "I'm going to head to my car. I'll see you at the office. I'm sure your day just got better." He turns to me. "Bye, Esme."

I say nothing but my tipped-up nose tells him goodbye too. But a stabbing set of eyes is still set on me, and back to my morning stare-off with Keats it is.

"Let me guess. You didn't just think it was honorable revenge for your friend, but you also thought it would piss me off one day?"

My lips quirk out, and although, yes, he is right, I sure as hell don't want him to know that. "No. I was just withholding the information and forgot to mention it," I lie .

"Hmm, sure." He isn't buying it. "Listen, as fun as our tit-for-tat is, I need to head to the real world. I would say I'd buy you a coffee, but my instinct to spit in it is probably too high."

I flash him a contrite smile. "Mature of you."

It feels like a minute, but it's probably only a few seconds that we just look at one another. The adrenaline of our conversation still seems to be flowing through me. Did his eyes just dip down to my lips? Or is it me staring at his mouth? Deciding how to tape it shut, of course.

"See ya, neighbor," he rasps.

"What joy."

And with that, he's gone. Now, I have nothing more to hold in my back pocket to piss him off, I guess.

It's a few days later when I return from the gym, and unfortunately, fate would have Keats arriving home at the same time. We seem to park our cars on our respective driveways at the same time.

We both exit our cars with glares on our faces to greet one another. Luckily, we hear the sound of old lady Mrs. Tiller saying hi to us.

She doesn't walk the best, but she's sweet, which is why Keats and I both descend our driveways to meet her on the sidewalk.

"Hi, Mrs. Tiller." I smile. She wants me to call her Sally, but it feels more respectful this way.

Her eyes sparkle at Keats who lost his suit jacket and opted instead for a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. "Look at you. A dashing young man."

"Only for you." He winks at her .

"There is some honesty," I snipe.

Both of them snap their gazes to me.

"You know, you two should come over for tea together. We can play a game of bridge, and you can bring that delicious pie of yours, Esme." She seems excited for the prospect.

Keats places his hand on her shoulder. "That is a lovely idea except I'm not allowed any pie." His cocky look is directed at me, then he rolls his head back to our neighbor. "I'm watching my sugar to stay in shape and all." Oh cute, what a nice cover. What an ass.

"Okay, well, the invite is always there. I need to go home to start my pot roast; the grandkids are coming over."

"Lovely. Do you want me to walk with you?" I offer.

She waves me off. "Don't be silly, dear. I'm still going strong at my young age."

Both Keats and I genuinely smile at her.

"Well, don't be afraid to call out if you need a hero," he jokes with her.

She chuckles and I think nearly fawns over him. But the moment she is far enough away, I shove his shoulder. "Hero? Really? Someone overestimates themselves." And why, oh, why do you need to have a hard, muscled arm?

"Funny. Now if you will excuse me, I need to check my mailbox with hopes that nothing of yours got in there."

I stand tall in a challenge. "What a coincidence, I need to check mine also for the very same reason."

We both almost march to the curb at the end of the driveway, push the flag down, and open the little huts. I grab the envelopes while Keats does the same, and our eyes hold.

In unison we study our mail. A bill, junk mail, and an envelope in handwritten cursive are in my hand. I do a double take when I see Keats examining the very same envelope between his fingers. We seem to be mirroring one another.

Hesitantly, we both open the wax seals, and then I have to smile.

Dear Ms. Jazz,

Your presence is requested at Everhope Manor on Saturday in two weeks to help solve a mystery.

Arrive in character and ready for a delicious dinner that will bring us back in time to the roaring 20s.

I hear Keats laugh as I notice further information about my character, then I step in his direction, closing the space between our boxes to peer at his mail. "You got an invite also?"

"Yep. Who did you get?"

"Lola Jazz, socialite and mistress to Kit Parker." The idea of this is fun, and my smile won't fall. "Who did you get? Detective? A billionaire who survived the Titanic? Is this whole thing Gatsby 20s or Age of Prohibition, like the mob 20s? But really, who did you get?" I list questions.

His grin that erupts is too sinister. Why does he now appear to be Satan with charm?

Keats holds up his invitation that he twists between his two fingers like a playing card. "Well, mistress, looks like you and I are going to be solving a mystery."

The inked name on his invitation is bold enough.

Maybe I should really murder Hailey.

Because standing in front of me is Mr. Kit Parker.

My lover.