Sure. It’s been my nickname since I was old enough to steal her phone and take pictures of my own feet. He knows that. What surprises me is that he’s heard my mom calling me this recently.

“Just how much do you hear, brooding in the back of our shop?”

He threads his fingers together. “I hear some things, figure others out. I have some theories about you.”

“Is that so?” I say. “Enlighten me, then. What are your theories?”

“I think you know that Beauty isn’t your mom’s forever home. So when your grandmother comes back and your mom inevitably hits the road, I think you plan on going out West to crash with your father.”

Every muscle in my body tenses.

His smile is slow and smug. “Knew it.”

“What the hell?” Has he learned some new hacking skills over the past few years? Paranoia skitters down my spine.

“Travel books about Los Angeles,” he explains. “Seen you flipping through them at the Nook when you think no one’s watching and hiding the notes you make from your mom. Your dad’s an LA fashion photographer who has a multimillion-dollar beachfront mansion in Malibu, and you always wanted to go out there. One plus one plus one equals you’re planning a secret trip to California.…”

My stomach twists. “You’re spying on me in the bookshop?”

“I’ve got two eyes, Josie. That’s not spying.”

“It’s exactly spying!”

“If you don’t want people to see, stop doing it in public. You’ve always been terrible at hiding things, so that hasn’t changed, just for the record. You left a printout of Los Angeles airfare comparisons next to the register two weeks ago. I swiped it and dumped it in the trash before your mom found it. You’re welcome.”

I’m stunned—stunned. And furious. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Sorry?”

I lower my voice and point at him. “You cannot say anything, okay? This isn’t a joke. This is … I’m just looking at airfare. It’s not a crime to look!”

“Whoa,” he says, dark brows knitting together. “Not accusing you of murder. Jesus.”

“I don’t have firm plans or anything,” I insist. “But you know my parents aren’t friends, right?”

“I remember.”

“Well, my mom would be really upset if she knew I was even thinking about it. Please.”

He straightens his posture and holds up both hands in surrender. “Hey. No judgment. And I won’t say anything. It’s just something I noticed, is all. I wasn’t snooping. I just happened to see it. Okay?”

I nod and scratch my arm, feeling exposed and uncomfortable.

We don’t say anything. Behind the shrubbery, the dance music thumps on.

“Have you gotten to know him better?” Lucky finally asks.

“What? Who?”