Had she gone home to her parents’ house? That’s what I would’ve done, but Bea wasn’t quite as close to her parents as I was. I doubted many people were as close to their parents as us Freemonts.
“Did she happen to tell you where she was going?”
“No, but her boyfriend gave me the key to her mailbox and asked if I could collect her mail in her absence. Nice young man, that one. Good cop too, from what I hear.”
“He’s actually my brother.”
“Ah. I thought I detected a resemblance.”
I guessed we did look a little alike, sharing the same coloring and all. “Do you have any idea where she went?”
“He said she was visiting relatives out in California, but I don’t know where exactly. Your brother would probably know.”
I nodded. “I’ll ask him. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I climbed back into my car, I tried Bea’s cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. I imagined she was screening calls from my family. Sighing, I revved up the engine and headed to Seoul Sister. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be there.
She wasn’t.
Miles was, though. He stood behind the bar, going over liquor inventory with the barmaid. The row of smaller birdcage lamps strung up over the bar highlighted his freshly-buzzed fade.
“Just came to drop off some stuff.” I heaved my giant bag.
“Go on ahead. I’ll be right with you.” He nodded to the five tables he’d pushed together at the back of the restaurant, beneath the mirrored wall on which he’d taped the golden BRIDE TO BE balloons.
As I crossed the restaurant, I took out the packet of engagement-ring-shaped confetti from my bag, ripped it open, and sprinkled the contents over the five tables, then set out the eleven rose-gold Team Bride tumblers and the white Bride one—decorative and collectible. I fanned out penis-shaped straws next and blew up the giant engagement ring floatie.
By the time Miles came over, I was setting out a thick pile of dare cards. Curiosity had made me preview the deck. While some dares were tame—drink if your hair’s up in a ponytail, sing the song of your choice to five guys without laughing, dance with the worst dancer (picked by your friends)—most were quite naughty—ask a stranger for a condom, kiss a random guy, discuss the merits of sex toys with the person of your friend’s choosing.
Tonight would be a night to remember. Or to forget, depending on which cards I ended up with.
He scanned the tables. “Looks like you’re all set.” Although his expression was easygoing, his posture was closed-off, arms crossed in front of his white tee. “We just have to frost the cake.”
Right. . . the cake. I heaved my bag back onto my shoulder. “Lead the way.”
He took me into the kitchen, then down a set of narrow stairs toward a basement that would make a wonderful setting for a slasher flick, what with its subdued lighting and yellowish-tiled walls and floors.
“I set us up in the cellar.” He entered a code on a keypad, and the door beeped.
Inset spotlights burst to life, pouring yellow beams onto the wooden shelving packed full of dusty bottles. Above the dank and woodsy aroma of corked wine rose another smell, one that made me smack my lips—sweet batter. A layered, phallic-shaped creation sat beside a large glass bowl filled with pink frosting on a tasting table.
Miles released the door, which beeped as it settled into a metallic frame.
My skin grew a little clammy, and not because of the musty chill. “Why did it beep?”
“Locking mechanism.” He presented me with the spatula propped in the frosting bowl.
“Um . . . so how do we get out?”
“There’s a keypad behind that wine barrel.” Miles ticked his head toward an old wooden cask girdled with four shiny metal bands. “My parents have bottles worth a couple grand in here, so they upped security last year.”
I swallowed, still not fully at ease with being locked in an underground cellar with a guy who wasn’t family. “Could we leave the door open? I get a little claustrophobic.”
Miles’s lips pinched. “Dad’ll kill me if the air temp varies too much.”
“Can we take the cake out then? I’m sorry, I—”
