I hung up on Brian mid-sentence—something like, “Don’t waste a detective’s time during a murder investigation!”—only for the actual detective to hang up on me with almost the exact same words. 

While I sulked there, a passerby came along and hauled me out. 

For all the drama, it ended almost anticlimactically, leaving even me feeling oddly unsatisfied. 

After thanking my rescuer as sincerely as I could, I began walking home through the streets of Brisbane.

Brisbane, Australia’s third-largest city, sits at a far lower latitude than Canberra, the capital, Sydney, the economic hub, and Melbourne, famed for its livability.

Officially it’s classified as subtropical, though when someone as cold-sensitive as me can wander around in short sleeves on a July winter night, I start to suspect we’re edging closer to the tropics.

Longtime residents love to complain about global warming and extreme weather, but as a newcomer of only three years, I can’t say I’ve really noticed.

I decided to take a slight detour, turning southwest.

Before long, the river came into view—boats moving along it throughout the day.

The Brisbane River, our city’s winding landmark, cutting across the city in broad curves.

Across the water, lights from buildings and cars scattered and shimmered. On this side, the river reflected only forest shadows and resting boats, the dark water deepening into black.

Staring into that blackness, my spirits lifted.

And I finally set my course northward.

I crossed a street lined with independent eateries and apartment buildings, then passed two blocks of luxury hotels.

Turning left at the corner of a jewelry shop that would never have anything to do with someone like me, I found my residence right in front of me.

A bona fide luxury apartment building on the same street as the Hilton Hotel.

Blinking against the orange light spilling from the glass doors, I stepped into the entrance hall.

I was about to pass between the concierge counter and the waiting area sofas, as usual, when I noticed a tall man leaning against the wall instead of sitting.

My breath caught. I knew that figure.

Slightly disheveled ash-gray hair, nearly black.

A hundred and eighty-nine centimeters tall (six-two in old money).

Long legs in black slacks.

Grayish-blue eyes tinged with melancholy, the kind that drew quiet sighs from admirers, set in lightly tanned skin.

His clean, well-formed features and perfectly straight posture made it seem as though anything the world might call “slovenly” had been carefully removed.

Had I ever given him my address?

I stood there frozen, staring at the man who had dumped me rather brutally three years ago.

I wanted nothing more than to turn on my heel and flee, but that wasn’t an option.

With a sigh, I walked toward Brian, unable to hide my displeasure.

He noticed me and fixed me with a glare. Ah, right—I’d forgotten what a fierce look he had.

“Brian.”

My voice came out weaker than I intended, and I almost clicked my tongue in frustration.

Trying to mask my agitation, I continued brusquely.

“It’s been a while. How did you find my place?”

Brian held my gaze and answered in a mild voice, “I asked your mother.”

“What? I never gave her my addr—” I started to protest, then remembered I’d sent her a birthday card recently. I grimaced, feeling oddly betrayed.

“Next time, I’m sending that card without a return address.”

“…Do you and your mother actually understand what ‘disowned’ means?”

“What choice do I have? If I don’t, she sulks and turns it into a whole ordeal.”

I sighed, picturing my mother. Beautiful, but armed with utterly irrational logic and not a shred of doubt in her own righteousness. A formidable woman. We’d fought constantly when I lived at home. We still do, even after the disownment.

By then, I’d let my guard down considerably—lulled by Brian’s calm voice and the easy familiarity of bantering with someone I’d known for years.

So I approached him without thinking, and when he suddenly grabbed my upper arm and squeezed, I only blinked up at him.

“Got you now, you bastard.”

His voice had shed all its earlier mildness. Only then, like an idiot, did I remember how thoroughly displeased he’d looked.

“Luke, you—”

“How cruel! You’re unbelievable! You tricked me!”

Belatedly twisting to shake off his grip, I shouted.

“That’s because you always try to slip away the moment things get awkward. Now, take me to your apartment. I’m not leaving until I’ve heard the full story—and believe me, you’re not getting off without a serious lecture.”

“Why is a lecture already a given?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Megan!”

My eyes lit up at the woman casting suspicious glances from reception.

“You look absolutely stunning today! Call the police!”

“Stop treating the police like a convenience service.”

Brian caught my nose lightly between his fingers with his free hand, then began dragging me toward the reception desk.

“Hi, Megan? I’m this guy’s childhood friend, Brian Darcy.”

He produced a business card with economical grace. When Megan shot me a questioning look, I reluctantly nodded, confirming he wasn’t lying.

“Are you aware of the trouble he’s gotten himself mixed up in?”

“Yes, the police called asking if he was here… They told me a bit about the situation.”

“He’s panicking about it, so I came to help sort things out.”

“I am not panicking. I’ve got everything ready to run in case I get thrown in prison for something I didn’t do!”

“As you can see, this is what I’m dealing with. Also, the word you want is ‘wrongful conviction,’ Luke.”

“Oh right, yeah, that’s it!”

Watching me nod in agreement, Megan gave me a pitying look and sighed deeply. “I see…”

“If his confused testimony sends the investigation in circles, it’ll be a headache for both the police and the victim’s family. I’d like to hear what happened from him before it comes to that.”

With that, Brian gave Megan a quick wink.

“I used to be a detective, believe it or not.”

“Is that so? I have to say, you’re a bit too handsome for a detective.”

The suspicion had vanished completely from her expression, replaced by a wry smile. I started to panic.

“His apartment is on the fifteenth floor. The key’s in his right back pocket.”

As she spoke, she pressed the elevator release button without hesitation. Brian flashed her a charming smile.

“Thank you, Megan. You’re perfect.”

He slipped his hand into my pocket and fished out the key. I yelped and struggled harder.

“Megan, this is sexual harassment! Call the police!”

“Don’t be silly, Luke.”

With that, she dropped her gaze to something in her hands. I spotted a magazine—today’s issue—and despair washed over me. Once this hopeless print addict’s eyes landed on text, she wouldn’t look up again until her shift ended. Her earlier intervention had been purely a favor to me.

As I was dragged toward the elevator, Megan called out casually.

“Take a look in the mirror later—you might learn something.”

Her words sent heat rushing to my cheeks.

It’s not my fault! Blame him for being so ridiculously handsome, damn it.