Luke points to a waitress inside, and I do a double take. Amber? No, too old. A relative though, for sure. The waitress catches wise to her audience and nails Amber’s this-is-bullshit grimace-smile. Definitely related.

“Use our special code—‘Bluke’—inside to get ten percent off your meal,” Ben adds, a blush on his cheeks. I can’t help staring at the quirk of his mouth.

“Where’s Cooper?” someone behind me shouts.

“Sadly, there are no sexy bakers in town. You’ll have to settle for me.” Luke winks lasciviously. “Or Ben, if you have lower standards.”

They carry on with the comedy versus straight man act as we wend our way through downtown and over familiar terrain. I fear Maura’s house is the final tour stop—bully for me, being dropped off at home, but then her superfans would know where I live. I swear one of them was trying to run their fingers through my hair at one point.

But as we strategically cross streets and take alleyway shortcuts to avoid haphazardly shingled houses with junker cars cluttering front yards and dilapidated ranches with foreclosure signs stabbed into yellowing lawns, in favor of the well-kept Craftsmans and Victorians, I realize we are leading up to the front steps of Seaview High.

“What are we doing here?” I whisper to Luke as Ben dutifully guides the group to the entrance.

“The grand finale,” Luke says with a wink.

We file around the side of the main building, with brief stops at the Weston Annex before descending narrow, cracked concrete stairs to the lower level and a set of doors.

Ben and Luke face us. “Friends, what you are about to see is not for the faint of heart,” Luke begins with a feigned somberness. “Behind me is the site where almost fifty-two years ago to the day, young Caroline Quinn took her last brea— Ah!” The doors slam open. A tall, muscular boy in a football uniform pushes past our guides, shouldering Luke a bit harder than necessary.

“Fuck off, Escano!” Luke explodes.

Ben grabs firm hold of Luke’s arm before it can swing. Tension crackles between the boys, so much so that our entire tour group steps back to allow the football player clear passage.

Escano. The name rings in my head. Of course. This is Bronte’s brother. Wow. Genetics have been kind to the Escano siblings. My eyes rake over his intense brown eyes and a chiseled jaw that flexes as he stares daggers at Luke.

“I can’t believe you’re still doing these tours. That the school lets you.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” Luke spits, his first name an upgrade, but only in derision. “The school allows a lot of people to get away with a lot of things. You ‘forget’ something in your locker? That why you’re in here on a Saturday?”