Tori wiped down her white countertop after Ethan’s messy breakfast of cinnamon-sugar toast. The essence of cinnamon caused her to lick her lips. She loved when her house smelled like cinnamon. Perhaps she would make rice pudding before Ethan got home. He always gobbled down the sweet treat, and boiling the cinnamon stalks for hours made her house smell like the Christmas season.

As she finished wiping the last of the sticky mess from her counter, the front door chime signaled a visitor.

“You gonna start locking your door?” Gussie’s voice echoed through the empty house.

“Then you wouldn’t be able to just walk in, Gussie.”

“True,” she said, bringing Tori into a hug and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “But I would find my way in somehow.”

“What are you up to? You hungry? I make a mean cinnamon-sugar toast.”

“Thanks, but I can only eat 500 calories today, and something tells me sugary toast would exceed that. I came to help you vacuum.”

Tori shook her head. She remembered those days of modeling when she had to eat like a bird. That was something she didn’t miss. “Vacuum?”

“I remembered that I never got to your library after the romance writer did her interviewing in there.”

Tori’s muscles tensed, remembering the disappointing end to her conversation with Zee in that very spot at the counter a few days earlier. “Sorry I wasn’t much help that night.”

“You’re royalty,” Gussie said with an upturned nose. “You shouldn’t have to clean.”

Tori shrugged her shoulders. “Really? You don’t think the royal family cleans their own floors?”

“They may do it behind closed doors. Could be the royals’ dirty little secret.”

“Touché.” Tori acknowledged a hit in their verbal fencing. “Let’s vacuum.”

The library was one of Tori’s favorite rooms. She designed the built-in bookshelves with rolling ladders to coast on the hardwood floors, the kind that causes you to stop and gasp with bibliophilistic excitement. The library of leather-bound books spanned three full walls.

French styled glass doors opened into the surprisingly lit room, illuminated by the light flowing in through the stained glass windows above each of the bookcases. Tori had commissioned a local glass blowing company to replicate her royal ancestors’ coat of arms. The stained glass art depicted two black jaguars, one above the other, both positioned in a pounce position. Above the cats’ heads stood a red-feathered bird with its wings raised in victory, like a pro-wrestler who’d just won the match.

“Where is that…” Gussie said, circling the antique drafter’s table set in the center of the room, “darn plug?”

“On the right side of the desk.”

“Finally,” Gussie said, plugging the vacuum cord into the outlet. “Why did you put an outlet into the floor?”

She was neat, not obsessive compulsive. At least Tori enjoyed telling herself that. “I didn’t want cords running helter-skelter through the middle of the room.”

Tori grabbed the vacuum from Gussie, set it to wood and maneuvered it carefully around the room. The vacuum started to wheeze as she ran it under the desk. When she rolled it out, she noticed a piece of paper flapping against the spinner. On closer examination, it was a business card. It read: Director of Refugee Affairs. Salt Lake City.

“Gussie, you know what this is?”

“Yes. It’s called interesting.” Gussie took the card from Tori’s hand. “Let’s call her.”

“Why? We don’t know her.”

Gussie lifted the receiver of the replicated 1920s antique copper, candlestick phone. “Only one way to find out.” Her voice grew excited as she began dialing the number.

Tori tried to grab the card from out of Gussie’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of this house.” Gussie dodged Tori.

A muffled voice floated out of the handheld receiver Gussie held to her ear. Tori elongated her neck to shorten the distance to Gussie’s head, attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Gussie leaned over to speak into the base, causing Tori to stumble. “Is she available to speak with me?” Gussie said before pausing to scribble on the decorative notepad, only used by insubordinate sisters. “Volunteer opportunities? Absolutely. Name it.” She tapped the pen on the table as she listened. “I see. Thank you for your time.”

Tori raised an eyebrow as she tapped her leg with an open palm. “What did you commit us to?”

“How are your gardening skills?” Gussie winked, playfully exerting her insufferable tenacity.

* * *

Zee stared at his computer screen. Should he click the Add Friend button on the social media site? Tori’s photo lingered in the corner of his screen. He had promised Annie he would at least try.

He took in a deep breath and clicked the button, then sat back in the black leather recliner in his man-den. Is this what Indie 500 drivers feel like in their cars as they sit in the driver’s seat, expending thousands of calories due to sheer stress.

Although Zee’s eyes looked up at the TV screen above the wall mounted gas fireplace, his laptop screen taunted his peripheral vision.

Five minutes turned into ten and ten into thirty. He clicked off an old episode of Seinfeld. The sitcom had seemed to cheer him slightly.

As he reached over to the end table to close his laptop, a happy sound emanated from his computer. She had accepted his friend request.

Now he would need to start posting. He loathed social media. Annie had tricked him into joining a few sites. She had explained to him that a person wasn’t considered normal if they didn’t have an online presence and at least a few hundred friends. Zee now had eight hundred and fifty-six friends, but all he seemed to care about was the last one.

How could he be charming online? He had a few months to impress her. He’d know if it had worked when he returned to Salt Lake and made his move.