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“How long have you been in Boston?”
“Six months,” she whispered, fisting her napkin. “What about you?”
“All my life. How do you like it so far?”
She clicked her tongue. “Well, I’m not in love with the place.”
“People here must be rougher than what you’re used to.”
“Very true. I greet everyone I see, but folk around here seem to keep to themselves. I miss my Tennessee. It’s like y’all are allergic to friendliness.” She chuckled. “Listen to me prattlin’ on like you’re my therapist.”
The boy banged on the table. She sighed and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Jack, please.”
He stopped making a racket, and she gestured toward me. “Say thank you to the man who bought us lunch.”
“Thanks.”
“Not like that,” she chastised. “Thank you, sir. And look him in the eye, sweetie. Nobody will believe a word you say if you don’t look at them.”
The boy raised his chin. “Thank you, sir.”
When the boy met my gaze, it tugged at something inside me. This kid had my eyes before the Family business had blackened them with sin. Not possible. I’d taken too many lives to create one. What kind of God allowed that to happen?
“How old is your boy?” I asked.
“Three.”
I frowned. I would’ve had to meet her four years ago. Violet wasn’t easy to forget, especially with that accent. I drank her in, inhaling her floral scent. Nothing popped into my brain. Did I sleep with this girl? Was she pretending to not know me?
“So, what do you do?”
She gave me a strained smile. “A few jobs here and there.”
“Anywhere I’m familiar with?”
She shook her head. “Doubt it.”
I leaned forward, studying the quiver in her cheek. “I feel I know you from somewhere.”
Violet’s delicate brow wrinkled as her hand swept up to stroke her neck. It ran up that graceful arch.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said in her musical drawl. “Unless we met at one of my gigs?”
“Are you a musician?”
“Sure am. I sing and write Appalachian music.”
What the fuck was that?
She signaled for the waiter, who floated nearby. “Can I get some boxes, please?”
“Leaving already?”
“Yeah.” She smiled, tipping her leftovers into the takeout containers the waiter rushed over. “I’ve gotta go, but it was lovely meeting you. And thank you for the meal.”
I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Maybe we’ll grab a drink sometime.”
She nodded, but she was writing me off. The way she tucked the card into her purse told me she had no intention of calling me. My heart pounded as she left with the boy in tow.
