"Not the extra-special kind, I hope." I made that mistake once, and I swear there were elephants dancing behind my closed eyes.
Sal guffaws. "No, no. The only high from these will be from sugar."
I search through the glass front window until I see Adela behind the register, and when she looks over, I give her a wave and blow her a kiss. She returns the sentiment, and I pivot to leave Sal to his work.
Mumbled words behind me pull me back around. "What was that?"
"You didn't say my name. To that boy. At least not in front of me, you didn't."
I nod at his insistence. "Have a nice day, Sal."
I start for my house, and the further I go, the more clarity I have. And here's the thing. I am positive I didn't say Sal's name to Peter.
There are other ways he could've known it.
But...
Call it women's intuition, call it a sixth sense, but something about Peter Bravo's story isn't adding up.
Chapter 12
Daisy
"Peter's an old friend,"Hugo says, breathing heavily into the phone. He answered my call in the middle of rearranging tables at Dama Oliva, Vivi's restaurant in town, and informed me he would not be taking a break because"My sister aka your best friend is a power hungry egomaniac who is also too poor to hire real help and she has forced me here against my will."
The phone must've been on speaker, because Vivi's voice not so kindly reminded Hugo that she's providing him with dinner, and she expects him to sing for it.
"How old of a friend is he?" I prod Hugo, frowning at my phone screen as I switch it to speaker and lay it on my desk. I'm in between clients, and I thought I'd use the time to look a little deeper into Peter Bravo. I’ve been unable to think of little else since running into him at Sweet Nothings, the thoughts parading back and forth in my mind until the gentle pushing turned to shoving and I finally picked up the phone.
I don't know what I was expecting from Hugo, but it wasn't cryptic responses. Hugo is not the strong, silent type. In fact, he can be quite the chatterbox. So his reticence right now is sparking suspicion in me.
"Umm, I don't know. We go way back." Hugo grunts with exertion, the loud sound of something heavy sliding across the floor filters across our connection. "When did you meet him?"
"I took a walk at Summerhill the night of my engagement party, just to, uh, get a break from all the well wishes." I better watch what I say. This is supposed to be a fact-finding mission, not a tell-all about myself. "Peter was there, parked behind one of the other buildings."
"Peter was at Summerhill?"
"Yeah. You didn't know he was there? That's when I met him for the first time."
"There's been more than one time?"
"He came to see me for a physical therapy appointment yesterday, and my curiosity was piqued. So I called you."
"Hold up," Vivi instructs, her voice coming through louder than before. I picture her standing next to the phone, arms crossed as her brain shifts the puzzle pieces into place. "The tall drink of water the old ladies turned into horn dogs over is the same guy who came to a physical therapy appointment with you yesterday? But you already knew him from your engagement party?"
"Correct."
"And you know him?"
This question is not directed at me, but I answer for Hugo. "Apparently they go way back."
"You go way back? No you don't." Vivi has adopted her bossy sister tone. "I know all your friends."
On this, I am silent.
"I have friends besides Ambrose," Hugo says in that annoyed tone a brother reserves for his sister.
"Who?" Vivi challenges, in a voice that clearly saysNo you do not.
