“You make a good prince charming.” I rest my hand on his chest and tug him by the gold sash. I kiss him just as they call my name.
I feel his lips pull into a smile and he steps back. Reaching down, he picks up Indie and together, they clap for me as I clumsily make my way to the stage.
A month later, the three of us head to Ray Fieldhouse to watch the basketball team play. Indie’s in the smallest, most adorable Valley University shirt and matching blue headband. She sits on John’s lap and the two of them clap and cheer. They are far more entertaining than the game.
He catches me watching and winks. We’ve continued taking things slow. We still split time with Indie so that I can study, and I’ve gotten better about drawing limits for myself. It isn’t easy, though. Not with the two of them always being so dang sweet.
“Do you miss being out there?”
“No way. I’ve got the best seat in the house.” He leans over and kisses me. “Plus, they’re getting their asses handed to them. Coach is going to be pissed at halftime. Tomorrow they’ll be running suicides and I’ll be snuggled up with my girls.”
“I love you.” The words I’ve held in tumble out at a time I hadn’t planned.
He doesn’t immediately speak, and I think maybe he hasn’t heard me. Then ever so slowly, an easy grin spreads across his face. “I love you too, Rylee.”
Indie looks between us and claps.
Hideaway by CoraLee June
Chapter One
“They forgot the angostura bitters, and the lime juice wasn’t fresh. If a club is going to pride themselves on having a Drunken Elephant as their signature drink in every single one of their press releases, the least they can do it get the recipe right,” I complained.
My cousin, Dax, laughed on the other end of the line. “You are such a cocktail snob.”
My scuffed, designer thrift store heels walked down the dimly lit sidewalk toward my apartment. It was late, the flickering streetlamps illuminating the walkway and casting a glow over my bright red hair. A chill made me shiver and wrap my Max Mara puffer jacket tighter around my body. My breath was visible in the winter night air. “It’s kind of my job to be picky,” I replied. This was a conversation Dax and I had numerous times.
“It’s seriously not fair that you have such a dream job. I’m bartending five nights a week and barely getting by. Meanwhile, you have a waitlist of like five gazillion bars and mixologists waiting for you to visit them.” I knew for a fact that my cousin wasn’t barely getting by as he so eloquently claimed. The women who frequented his bar tipped him very generously. He just poured all his money into his classic truck. Typical.
I was a blogger and influencer. My job was to visit different clubs and write up reviews of their signature drink. I knew Dax was being playful, but I still worried about him. My mom raised us both, and when she died, he was all I had left. “Do you need me to send you some money?” I asked quietly.
“No. Don’t you dare. I’m fine. I’m just saving up for a new transmission, so I’m living that ramen noodle life for the next few months.” We both chuckled and he continued. “Aunt Deb would be so proud of you, you know.”
I smiled to myself before turning the corner toward my apartment building. “She would have ripped my bartender a new one tonight. She used to make the best Drunken Elephant,” I said softly. Mom passed away from cancer just last year. It was a loss I still felt daily. She was a famous mixologist in the city and worked with bars all over the country, helping them create unique and delicious drink menus for their clientele. She taught me everything I knew, and now, I used that knowledge to review local hot spots on my viral Instagram and YouTube accounts. I inherited her ability to analyze flavors and associate them to brands, emotions, and feelings. I could pick a signature drink for any person, club, or event. Dax got her mixology genes and loved concocting new beverages. Pretty soon one of these bars was going to swoop him up. He just hadn’t had his big break yet.
“Are you almost home? I hate when you walk this late,” Dax said, changing the subject.
“Just a couple more blocks. I could have taken a cab, but you know how I like stretching my legs.”
“Why don’t you stretch your legs during the day? When it’s bright outside and when the creeps are asleep?”
I rolled my eyes. I was born and raised in Chicago. I knew every street corner like the back of my hand. The city could be dangerous, but I was more than capable of taking care of myself. “I’m fine. I’ll be home soon.”
“You better. Listen, my break is almost over and there’s a cute girl here I’m trying to impress with my cocktail skills.”
“Oh?” I asked with a smile. “Well, you better get going, Romeo.”
“What drink should I make a girl who’s cute, flirty, fun, but has this mystery about her? She’s got deep chocolate eyes you just get lost in and a vibe that’s both dark and playful. When she’s with her friends, she’s bubbly. When she talks to me, she’s got this depth. She comes in every Friday and I’m trying to get the courage to ask her on a date.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment, thinking over this mystery woman and assigning her a drink. “Make her a Basilica.”
“Ahh. Haven’t made one of those in a while.”
“Vodka, limoncello, simple syrup, lemon juice, and sweet basil leaves. Oh, and add a strawberry for garnish. It’s a refreshing cocktail that showcases the basil. Although it seems to be sweet and playful, it’s impressively balanced and has a depth about it you can’t quite put your finger on. Just like your mystery girl.”
“You’re the best, Lydia. Seriously,” Dax replied.
“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I replied playfully before hanging up the phone.
I kept walking, feeling a slight buzz from the drinks at the club and a happiness in my chest from talking to Dax. He moved to LA a few years ago and I loved getting to chat with him. I really needed to go visit him soon. I put my cell phone in my purse and kept marching on.
The Chicago night air was crisp and cold, biting at my cheeks as I walked. The wind was like a slap to the face, but I was used to it. I noticed a shadow walking behind me but didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t until I turned down an alley—a shortcut to my apartment building—that the shadow approached.
“Lydia Love,” a masculine voice called out. I spun around on my heels to face the man. He had greasy hair down to his shoulders and wore a thin jacket, despite the freezing weather. “It’s really you!”
I took a step backward. “And you are?”
“Well, I’m your soul mate. I’ve been following your Instagram since your twenty-first birthday. I knew we were meant to be together when you wore a red dress. Red’s my favorite color. You were speaking to me, weren’t you? Trying to tell me that you love me, too.”
My heart started to race at his words. What was wrong with this guy? “I’m sorry. I don’t know you. Please leave me alone,” I stammered.
“But you do know me. I message you every day. I comment on all your photos. I tried sending you flowers, but I couldn’t find your address until now. When I saw that you were at the Broken Bulb for drinks tonight, I knew I had to take my chance. I drove all the way from Oklahoma to see you. Now we can be together. Now we can get married.”