Sparks fly between charity-shop owner Naomi Wu and grumpy app developer Leon Fink, as they travel to tropical Thailand in search of Leon's runaway bride and a priceless family heirloom.
* * *
Naomi Wu is a staunch believer in good karma.
Which is...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"ARE you sure you don't wanna order anything, handsome?"
Leon glared at the female bartender through the thick veil of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, annoyance bubbling in his blood. This was the third time she asked him the same question, in the span of fifteen minutes.
He knew. He counted.
And every time, he said the same damn thing back to her.
"Like I previously said," Leon replied, his voice harder than steel, "I'm waiting for somebody."
By God, he hated having to repeat himself.
The bartender fluttered her false lashes at him and smacked her ruby-red lips. "No need to be rude. Just doing my job, aren't I?" she feigned innocence.
It was clear to Leon that she wasn't 'just doing her job', judging by the other patrons in the bar desperately trying (and failing) to get her attention. She leaned over the counter to strategically offer him a generous eyeful of her cleavage and Leon inwardly groaned, now thoroughly annoyed.
"It's just that your lot don't come 'round here ever," she whispered huskily. "My name's Stacy, by the way."
"My lot?" Leon didn't bother to give her his name.
Stacy the Bartender nodded, her ponytail bobbing enthusiastically. "Rich types. Hot guys in three-piece suits."
Leon raised his hand and pointed to the white-gold band on his finger, uttering a bland, "I'm engaged." Or at least, he still was in his mind.
"So? I'm married," she challenged indignantly, causing Leon to roll his eyes.
Of all the places Hank could've chosen to meet. It had to be this seedy bar on a dingy street with a bartender who couldn't take a hint.
"Leon Fitzwilliam Fink, just leave the poor girl alone," Hank Stone's familiar, chesty voice waded in before Leon could give Stacy a piece of his mind.
"More like the other way around," Leon muttered as he turned to see his high school acquaintance regarding him with a Cheshire Cat grin. Hank had grown noticeably paunchier since his quarterback days, but that wasn't the thing that shocked Leon the most.
It was the thick caterpillar of a moustache above his top lip that was overdue for a trim and a thorough conditioning.
"Detective Stone!" Stacy the Bartender exclaimed, brows shooting up to her hairline. "Is this your friend?"
Hank clicked his tongue before speaking, "Unfortunately, yes. Pour me a pint, will ya, Stace? Thanks." He turned to Leon and cocked his head. "What about you?"
Leon eyed what looked like a pastry crumb playing hide-and-seek in his moustache.
"I don't drink."
"Ever?" Both Stacy and Hank blurted at the same time.
