It only takes me about half an hour to get good and thoroughly buzzed. I certainly wouldn’t be able to drive at this point.

There are two of everybody.

It’s delightful.

“More, please,” I say to Keegan, but he just slides a glass of water in front of me. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”

“You need some water in you before I give you more alcohol,” he says. I begrudgingly take a sip of water and frown at him over the rim. “Would you like to tell me what’s got you so riled up, darling?”

“Fine.” I wake up my phone and bring up the photos, then toss the cell over to Keegan.

“What am I looking at?”

“My ex with my so-called friend in Aruba.”

His green gaze—the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life—flies to mine.

“I don’t even know why I’m upset,” I admit and prop my chin in my hand. “I mean, I want nothing to do with Troy. He’s a first-class jerk. And, obviously, Heather isn’t my friend. But she was in my wedding—even though it didn’t happen. And now she’s all cozied up on my vacation. What should have been my honeymoon.”

“Of course, you’re upset,” he says as he sets my phone down on the bar. “Even if you don’t love him, it’s still a betrayal.”

“Mostly, I’m upset about Aruba,” I admit quietly. “I was so excited for that vacation. I’d been working for my dad pretty much non-stop for two years, and I needed to get away. Somewhere warm and tropical.”

“How long did you work for your da?”

“Since college. I wanted to be a weather girl, but my parents would not let me do that, even though I have a degree in meteorology and everything. They made me work for the family business, running numbers all day. And, yes, they’re wealthy, and I had an indulged life living in their guest house, but everyone needs a vacation now and then. Right, Sam?”

The older man smiles my way and nods his gray head. “That they do, lass.”

“I love that the Irish call me lass,” I say with a happy sigh. “Anyway, I sound spoiled. And maybe I am. Or was. But I’m so happy to be out of there. I love this job way more than I did being a bookkeeper. And I hated living in the guest house. Even though I could technically come and go as I pleased, they still kept tabs on me. I’m twenty-eight years old, and my mother would always comment if I brought shopping bags home or if I got in late. And I just realized, aside from a few personal things, I don’t own anything. I don’t even have a couch. Or a bed.”

I lay my face on my arms in despair.

“I’m pathetic.”