Me: Not a she.
Diego: WHO IS HE?
Me: Nobody. ForgetI asked.
Diego: Too late. I’m invested. Details. Now.
Me: There are no details. I literally crashed into someone this morning and now I can’t stop thinking about it.
Diego: Where?
Me: Ybor.
Diego: Was he hot?
Me: . . . yes.
Diego: Then yes, it would be reasonable to hope you run into him again. Also, you should go back there.
Me: I can’t just lurk around Ybor hoping to bump into a stranger.
Diego: Why not?
Me: Because that’screepy?
Diego: It’s only creepy if you make it creepy. Just happen to be in the area. Casually.
Me: I have to work.
Diego: You always have to work. Take a lunch break. Go get a coffee. Live a little.
I stared at the text, then put my phone away.
Diego was right about one thing—I always had to work—but he was wrong about the other thing. I couldn’t just stroll through Ybor on the off chance I’d run into a random redhead again. That was ridiculous. Tampa was a city of a gazillion people. The odds of seeing the same person twice by accident were basically zero.
I opened the Henderson file and forced myself to focus on the deposition prep I should have done last week.
I had work to do.
Everything else had to wait.
Chapter 6
Finn
The space was bigger than the photos suggested but also dirtier, with questionable stains on the floor and a lingering smell that Mark optimistically called “character.”
As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, he reached into his pocket and held out a key.
“Almost forgot,” he said. “This is yours.”
Of course, I needed a key. Still, the moment felt strangely important, like it held weight or gravitas or some kind of importance I had yet to appreciate.
“Thanks,” I said, staring at the cold metal in my hand.
He grunted, clapped me on the shoulder with his meaty paw, then sauntered toward his car like he owned all of Ybor, not just our tiny corner.
I went home and made a list.
