Chapter Five
“You’re an asshole,” Misty said.
Luke filled a glass with water and took in the sparse furnishings of the small older house. A sofa sat in the living room, with its dated brown paneling, and there was no table in the green and brown kitchen, only two bar stools at the island. Misty was perched on one, her elbows resting on the speckled brown laminate countertop, her head in her hands. He couldn’t see her face. She was hiding.
“Here, drink this.” He set the glass down, and she reached for it, then looked up at him. He shrugged. “You think I haven’t been called that and worse? The thing about me, though, is that I push and dig until I find what I’m looking for. I had a feeling you were hiding something. So who is this Chloe Welch? You want to tell me, or do I need to make a c
