One of Those Faces (32)

I hadn’t stopped thinking about the girl I’d seen, even as I sat in the Up Room, glancing up from my drawing every few minutes to see if Iann was there. He was already thirty minutes late for his usual Tuesday-night shift.

“Harper?”

I looked up from my sketchbook. My breath caught in my throat.

He stood there with the biggest grin. “I never thought in a million years I would see you again.” He sat in the chair across from me, his face and sandy-colored hair illuminated by the glow of the candles on the table between us.

“Danny,” I breathed. “What are . . .” I trailed off, at a loss for words. He looked the same as he had at Northwestern years ago, but he wasn’t a lanky eighteen-year-old anymore. His shoulders and arms filled out his dark-blue suit.

“What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept in years. Jesus, I almost didn’t recognize you.” He laughed and raised a glass to his lips.

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned forward in my seat. “Come on, I looked much worse than this the last time you saw me.” It had the cadence of a joke, but his smile flickered. Of course he remembered those cuts and bruises. I glanced around the room. Iann was still missing from the bar. “What are you doing here?”

“Some of my coworkers put together a happy hour thing.” He set his glass on the table.

I had accepted a long time ago that I’d never see him again. My head swam with questions. “Are you working in the city?”

He nodded, his bright eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Yeah, I’m at the Tribune. Been there four years now and still at the bottom of the food chain.”

He had always talked about working for the New York Times or going back home to work at the San Francisco Chronicle. “Why did you stay in Chicago?” I asked, my heart racing still from the shock. He had never completely left my thoughts. I had often imagined Danny somehow finding me and joining me, away from school and away from my father. That dream had carried me through those first few months.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, this place grew on me.” He looked out the window at the skyline in the distance. “And there’s no better place to be for crime journalism than Chicago.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re here. What are the chances of us running into each other after all this time?”

His expression darkened. “How are you? Are you good now?”

I peered down at my fingers tightly intertwined on top of the sketchbook. “I’m good,” I said quietly. He would’ve killed you if you’d stayed. That was the fear that I had never uttered to anyone, not even Danny. That last morning in Evanston, I had sensed it coming. My father had finally started to realize he could never really control me, that I would never really be like Issi. I had witnessed firsthand what he was capable of when he couldn’t get his way. “I’m sorry about—everything just got so messed up back then.”

He leaned toward me, and I met his gaze. “I’m glad you got out of there. I mean, it was a little rough after you left. But I’m just relieved that you’re okay now.” He gauged my silence. “I made the unhappy mistake of going to your house when you didn’t come to class that afternoon.”

My eyes widened.

“Yeah, exactly,” he said with a laugh. “Your dad was not thrilled about that.”

“What happened?”

“Well, he tried to ruin my life and get me kicked out of school for a while.”

My cheeks burned.

“But, you know me,” he continued. “I’m too much of a loudmouth to just go quietly into the night, so he eventually had to let it go.”

“I’m so sorry, Danny.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m not.” He turned his head slightly as the group by the bar emitted a roar of laughter. “Well, I should probably get back.” He looked at me. “So, do you have a phone, or are you truly living that starving-artist life you always talked about?”

I grinned. “Yes, to both.”

“Okay. Are you going to give me your number, or do I have to beg for it?”

I glanced behind him at the bar. Iann still wasn’t there. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m seeing someone.”

He shrugged. “So what? I have dibs.”

I laughed.

He stood up and grabbed his glass from the table. “No, but seriously, we should just reconnect sometime. As friends.” He handed me a business card. “And I’d love to meet this supposed boyfriend of yours,” he said, wryly.

I turned the card around. Reporter.

“Oh, and if you hear something interesting, let me know.” He gestured to the card. “Bonus points if it’s before the crime scene is cleared.” He winked and walked over to the bombastic group of young men yelling at a table by the entrance.

I tucked my book and Danny’s business card into my bag before leaving my seat. “Is Iann coming in today?” I asked Mike as he turned around to hand a woman her drink.

He shook his head. “No, I think he called in a little while ago.”

“Did he say why?”

Mike shrugged. “I didn’t talk to him.” He leaned away from me and toward a girl that walked up to the bar.