Andi put her hand on mine. “Did you miss him?”
Wow. I suddenly felt like I was on Oprah’s couch. This kid was trying to break me. I was prepared for a lot of questions, but not that one. It caught me off guard and made my heart jump, like it hit a speed bump at sixty miles an hour.
“Um, yeah, I did.”
“Do you think you’re gonna be best friends again?” Joey’s tone could not have been more optimistic. She was crossing her metaphorical fingers, toes, and eyes.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
Joey reached up and touched my cheek. “I hope that you will be, so you’ll come see us.”
“I will definitely see you. You live next door to my sister, silly gooses.” I smiled.
“Two gooses are geese,” Andi corrected me.
“You’re right, silly geese.” Yeah,nothinggot past this kid. “Okay, let’s get back to these books.”
I read all three of the chosen pieces of literature before tucking the girls into the queen bed, making a show of arranging their menagerie of stuffies for maximum protection around the perimeter of the mattress.
Luckily, I didn’t have to try very hard to slip into the motions of a bedtime ritual. The muscle memory was instant and alarming, like my body had been waiting years to slot right back into the habit. I tucked the covers up to their chins and smoothed the silky hair off their foreheads, fingers grazing the constellation of freckles scattered above Joey’s left eyebrow.
I leaned down and kissed the top of her head and then Andi’s head, inhaling the scent of Johnson & Johnson shampoo and childhood. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu. The girls even slightly resembled Bailey and Birdie.
Feeling overwhelmed by nostalgia I tiptoed out of the room, filled with unfamiliar sounds and shadows. When I got to the door and flicked off the light. The wind picked up and battered a branch against the siding.
I had a flashback to my own childhood nights next door, how the sounds would morph in the dark, becoming monsters. During those nights I had a walkie-talkie I could pick up and talk to Adam. Since I didn’t want them waking up their dad every five minutes, I stepped into the hall, pulled out myphone, and scrolled Amazon. On the way down the stairs, I ordered a sound machine and one of those galaxy night lights I’d seen on TikTok.
The girls were exhausted tonight, but tomorrow night would be an entirely different story. Halfway down I hesitated, do I send it to my apartment? Then I’d have an excuse to come over and deliver it to them. No. That was stupid. I typed out a quick message to go in the package and changed the address so it would be delivered to here, then headed down the final steps.
When I got to the bottom, I found Adam where I left him. He was on the couch, his body positioned in a crucifixion of exhaustion, arms thrown wide, one hand dangling over the side and the other curled loosely on his chest. His jaw had gone slack, and his mouth was open just enough for a faint snore to escape. He was dead to the world.
He looked peaceful, but not restful, if that made sense. More like the way someone looks after winning a very long, very stupid argument or after running an ultra-marathon drunk. Not able to stop myself, I took in the perfectly structured lines of his face, the stubble on his strong jaw, the curl of his eyelashes lying against his cheeks, catching the lamplight. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly above the waistband of his jeans, exposing a thin band of skin that made me think, for no reason, of cake batter that I wanted to lick.
I shook off the thought and impulse, walked over, and pulled a blanket over him, resisting the urge to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. I didn’t, however, manage to stop myself from whispering, “I missed you.”
Tears began to form in my eyes, but I sniffed back the emotion, and on the way out, I stopped by the kitchen, pulled out two bowls with spoons and mini boxes of cereal, and set them on the kitchen table so when the girls woke up, they’d be able to serve themselves breakfast.
As I opened the front door to leave, I had the strangest urge to, well, not leave. To stay. But that was insane. I had to go. Backto my apartment. Where someone had not only broken into my building but messed with the security footage.
Holy shit. I hadn’t even thought about that for the past few hours. How had I forgotten about my stalker and the note that was in my car waiting for me to take to the police? I’d do it tomorrow before the photo shoot.
Breakfast. Police station. Bridal shoot. Just a typical Sunday.
10
BILLIE
The downtown precinctwas a monolithic structure at the crossroads of Market and Seventh, an architectural relic wedged between a vegan bakery and a check-cashing place. It looked as if someone had poured a bucket of beige Legos onto a slab of concrete and called it a day. The interior was less captivating, with fluorescent lighting so intense you could see the blood vessels in your eyelids when you blinked, linoleum floors scrubbed to a dull eggshell, and a subtle undercurrent of sweat, printer toner, and microwaved noodles.
Detective Ramos’s office, however, was filled with nostalgic baseball memorabilia and movie posters and carried an overwhelming scent of coffee and cologne. I’d been waiting to meet with the detective assigned to my case for nearly forty minutes and was just about to leave when the man himself arrived. I glanced up and saw that Ramos filled the doorway in a way that suggested he’d earned his frame through something more deliberate than genetics, wide shoulders tapering to a waist that required discipline and the blue oxford pulled taut across his chest but not straining.
The detective, early 40s, had the build of someone who’d traded youthful swagger for something more economical, still solid through the shoulders and arms, charcoal slacks sitting properly at his hips, the kind of body that looked comfortable in its own skin even under fluorescent hostility.
He stood tall, with an air of authority and command, his sharp jawline was complemented by a neatly trimmed beard, and his dark eyes held a steely determination. He walked in and extended his hand. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Bliss, I’m Detective Ramos.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve been brought up to speed by Officer McNolty.” As he leaned his hands on the desk, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned, tattooed forearms. He stared down at the notes, bagged as evidence, on standard printer paper, the edges torn jagged. He picked up the first and read it, then read them both in succession. “How does it feel? Did you really think I would go away, and how does it feel? They are clearly sending a message. Does that mean anything to you?”
