NORA
SHE RAPPED THREE quick times on the door, and then drew back on the landing, wondering if there was time to run away. What was she thinking? What did she hope to accomplish by coming here? Nora pivoted and would have taken off down the staircase, but before she could beat a hasty retreat the door creaked open behind her. She flinched and froze midstep.
“Hello?” And, of course: “Nora? Nora, what in the world are you doing here?”
Nora exhaled sharply and then made use of her dimple, pinning what she hoped was an appropriately contrite smile on her face. But it slipped and fell away before it fully formed. She turned around and lifted one shoulder instead. “Wondering if your offer still stands?”
Ethan gave her an indecipherable look, but he held open the door and motioned her inside. “Where have you been?” he asked, plucking a leaf from her sleeve as she passed.
“Here and there.”
Shutting the door, Ethan leaned against the frame and studied Nora for a few awkward seconds. She realized she was still wearing the jeans and concert T-shirt that she had changed into after leaving the Grind, and her clothes were rumpled and musty from running in the rain. Of course, she was dry now, but she hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror for hours. She had no doubt her hair was stringy, her makeup smeared. Slipping her thumbs into her belt loops, she tried to stand a little taller and exude an air of nonchalance. Ethan wasn’t buying it.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Really?” A spark of annoyance licked through her fear. It was, after all, just after eight o’clock in the morning, and all her nighttime worries had amounted to nothing at all. At least, as far as she knew. Nora had enough on her plate; no need to endure the Inquisition. “I didn’t realize we were playing twenty questions,” she said, moving toward the door.
Ethan put up his hands. “Sorry. But you have to admit this is a little unorthodox. And, nothing personal, Nora, but you look like hell. Have you slept?”
She hadn’t. Well, she’d dozed a little in her car, but the truth was she had spent the entire night trying to find Tiffany. Tiff wouldn’t pick up when she called or respond to any of her messages. And she had turned off the friend tracker that they had both installed on their phones. They told each other the app was so that they could coordinate Everlee’s schedule seamlessly. But they had really downloaded the software so that Nora would know, always, where Tiffany was. Donovan Richter was not to be trusted.
When her phone proved to be a dead end, Nora scouted out their favorite dive bar and a park where Everlee loved to go, and knocked on the door at the trailer of an old friend. She even drove past Tiffany’s dealer’s place several times, an unassuming house on the edge of town where you could score not just marijuana and a little E, but things that packed a much harder punch, too. There wasn’t a trace of Tiffany anywhere.
But even after she came up empty-handed, Nora hadn’t dared to go home. What if Donovan was waiting for her there? What if he came? What if he demanded answers that Nora didn’t have—or worse, ones that she did?
“No,” she admitted. “I haven’t slept.”
Ethan put his fists on his hips as if he was faced with a tough decision and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Get involved? Make her leave? In the end, he gave Nora a grim smile and waved her deeper into the apartment. “Let me make you some breakfast,” he said.
Nora found that she didn’t have the will to refuse. She was so exhausted she was shaking, and her heart was a riot of warring emotions. Where to start? How to find Tiffany and make sure Everlee stayed safe and keep Donovan far, far away? And what about Quinn? Nora knew her sister might never forgive her for the secrets she had kept, the trust she had broken. That wasn’t what Nora wanted. Quinn was innocent of any wrongdoing, and Nora had ensured she would never escape unscathed. The guilt was crushing.
“Can you stomach eggs?” Ethan asked as he rummaged through his refrigerator. “I have some red peppers and a bit of ham. Maybe an omelette?” He was wearing plaid pajama pants and an old T-shirt that had been washed so thin it was almost transparent. Nora could see the outline of his broad shoulder blades and the narrowing of his waist. He once told her that he played hockey in college, and she wasn’t surprised.
Nora looked quickly away. Seeing Ethan like this felt indecent somehow. Uncomfortably intimate. But what did she expect at this hour on his day off? “Yeah,” she forced herself to say. “Eggs would be great.”
Ethan emerged from the fridge with his arms full of containers, but when Nora tried to help he waved her away. “Sit,” he instructed. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”
Nora realized that she could already smell it; clearly he had brewed a pot before she showed up on his doorstep. Her stomach lurched at the promise of coffee, of food. How long had it been since she last ate? Nora honestly couldn’t remember.
“Please.”
Nora looked up to find Ethan studying her, a line of worry creased between his eyes. “What?”
“Sit down.”
She complied, sinking into a chair by the table in the eat-in kitchen. It was round and obviously secondhand, the surface pockmarked and lined with scratches. Nora found herself tracing the grooves because it gave her hands something to do. But less than a minute later Ethan placed a mug of coffee before her. No questions, no more attempts at conversation. He just set the steaming mug down and turned back to the counter where he was chopping vegetables and whisking eggs.
They had gone on a date. Once. And Nora had liked it, had liked him, but things were complicated with Tiffany and Everlee, and even though Donovan had already entered the picture, Nora felt responsible for her girls. No, not her girls. Anyway, it was messy. A brief but passionate kiss had fizzled into nothingness and now they were coworkers and friends, nothing more. But, sometimes . . . Nora watched Ethan working and was startled to find that though she was falling apart at the seams, though she was dirty and weary and scared, she felt safe here. She felt safe with him.
When the omelette was done, Ethan cut it down the middle with a spatula and slid the two halves onto mismatched plates. “Salt and pepper?” he asked. “Tabasco? Salsa? Ketchup?”
“Just salt and pepper,” Nora said.
“Perfect.” He snagged the condiments in one hand and managed to balance the two plates in his other. “Knives and forks are in front of you,” Ethan said as he put one plate in front of her.
“Thanks.”
Ethan sat down and smothered his eggs in Tabasco. Reaching for utensils from the wire container at the center of the table, he fixed Nora with a level gaze. “I’m happy to make you breakfast, but I need to know: Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Nora hoped she sounded breezy, casual, but her hand shook a little as she reached for her own utensils.
“You’re not a very good liar,” Ethan told her.
“That’s funny. I’ve been told I’m a great liar.” She took a bite of her omelette and had to suppress a moan. “This is so good.”
“Thanks. And, for the record, you’re a terrible liar.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Ethan making quick work of his plate and then settling back to sip his coffee and study Nora. She felt self-conscious beneath his gaze, exposed. Running a hand over her forehead, she forced a laugh. “I’m a wreck, aren’t I?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Are you giving me the silent treatment?”
Ethan shrugged. “Just waiting to see if you’ll come clean or if you’re going to keep pretending that everything’s fine.” He put a wry, one-handed air quote around fine and took another swig of his coffee.
Nora studied her eggs, running through every possible scenario. She and Tiffany had agreed that no one could know, no one could ever know because it would jeopardize everything. But then, Tiff hadn’t exactly stuck to the plan. And now what was Nora supposed to do? Tiffany had run off, presumably stolen Donovan’s money, left Nora to pick up the pieces . . . It was more than she could handle. And, like it or not, there weren’t many people Nora could talk to. Could trust. She’d given up so many things for Tiffany and Everlee—including friends.
“I’ll tell you what I can,” she said eventually.
“Good enough for me. You done? Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable.”
Taking off in the direction of a small living room, Ethan motioned for her to follow. Their brief fling hadn’t brought Nora inside of his apartment, and she couldn’t help but analyze it now. Ethan’s rooms in an upscale, newly finished complex were neat and spare, as clean-cut and warm as he was. The couch and matching love seat were a homey corduroy in teddy-bear brown, but the rest of the decor had an exotic flair. There were carved wooden animals and a batik that set off one wall with striking primary hues. A horn of some kind. An intricately woven basket. He had told her once that he loved to travel. Nora didn’t realize that he meant internationally.
“Gorgeous,” Nora said, studying what appeared to be an authentic Venetian mask. “Where did you get this?”
“Venice.”
“Really?” Nora was nervous, hardly even aware that she was making small talk. That they were discussing things so inconsequential they didn’t matter at all. “I’ve never been to Europe.”
“It’s beautiful,” he told her. “Avoid Paris, London, and Rome. You’d like Majorca. Warm beaches, blue water, friendly people.” He paused, considering. “Or maybe Istria would be more your style.”
“Istria?”
“Croatia.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Nora felt as if she were in the living room of a stranger instead of the man she spent nearly every day with. What did she really know about Ethan Holloway? Single, barista, part-time grad student. What was he studying again? Literature of some sort. She was almost sure of that. Nora felt herself warm with an uncharacteristic blush and quickly took another sip of her coffee. Clearly she was falling all to pieces. It pissed her off.
“Sorry.” Ethan laughed, waving a hand in front of him as if to dismiss his own travel recommendations. “Listen to me. I’m intolerable. If I had a slide projector I’d make you sit through at least a thousand pictures.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.” But he didn’t seem to mind.
“I just didn’t know you were so . . .” She cast about, looking for just the right word.
“Geeky?” Ethan offered helpfully. “Boring? Banal?”
“Global.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nora Sanford.”
And for some reason, she felt her eyes burn with sudden tears.
“Hey . . .” Ethan put down his coffee and slid closer to where Nora had sunk into a corner of the comfy love seat. There was an end table between them, but Ethan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He regarded her earnestly, compassionately. A part of her wished that his expression wasn’t so damned fraternal. Since when had she become the damsel in distress? It wasn’t her. It never had been.
Nora brushed at her eyes with the heel of her hands and forced a derisive laugh. “I’m fine, Ethan. Totally fine.”
“I thought we were past that.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m listening.”
It was a simple enough statement, but it cut Nora to the quick. She was the listener. The confidante. The quiet, behind-the-scenes best friend and fixer of all things broken. Hadn’t she been cleaning up after Tiffany since high school? Back then, Nora let Tiffany copy her homework assignments and cheat off her test papers. She took the rap when Tiffany’s aunt found a pack of Camel Lights in the pocket of her jean jacket. And when things got really out of hand, Nora had given up everything—including her own family—to stand by Tiffany’s side. To cover for her and help her, to make sure that Tiff and Everlee were provided for and together and safe. And now? Tiffany was gone.
“Thank you,” Nora whispered. But she was so used to listening that she found that when the tables were reversed her tongue felt thick and feeble. What could she say? She settled for a sliver of the truth. A beginning. “I’m worried about Tiffany.”
Of course Ethan knew who Tiffany was. Tiff and Everlee had come into the coffee shop regularly. He knew them so well that when her rusty red Ford truck with the white racing stripe pulled into the parking lot he started to make their drinks. A weak, white chocolate mocha with a drizzle of caramel for Tiffany and a hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, for Everlee. Nora had thought something might spark between Ethan and Tiffany—she was long and lean and angled like a runway model—but Ethan treated Tiffany with kid gloves. He was gentle with her, almost paternal in his concern for her and the girl who followed her as close as a shadow. Tiff had that effect on people.
“What do you mean you’re worried about Tiffany?” Ethan asked. His eyes hardened and his fists clenched. Nora could almost hear his thoughts and they had everything to do with Everlee. If there was something up with Tiffany, what about the pretty little slip of a girl who called her Mommy? For all her fierce beauty, Tiff had the look of a former addict. Nora knew it was one of the reasons people were so soft with her. Or maybe careful was a better word.
“Everlee’s safe,” Nora said, answering the question before he voiced it. “She’s okay. But . . . Tiffany’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
Nora laughed, but it was joyless and cold. “She left. Abandoned us. Disappeared. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. How I’m going to keep Everlee away from him.”
“Him?”
“Donovan. The guy who showed up at the Grind yesterday.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s he got to do with Everlee?”
“He’s the closest thing she’s got to a dad. And if Tiffany is gone, he’ll fight for her.”
“And?”
“He’ll win.” It was barely a whisper, but Nora knew it was true. Donovan got what he wanted. And he wanted Everlee.
It looked like Ethan knew the answer before he voiced the question, but he asked it anyway. “That’s a problem?”
“You have no idea.” Nora squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head in her hands for a moment. And then, before she could stop to consider what she was doing, she started to talk.
She told him everything. Almost.