Sensual.
Feminine.
I wrote those after the other things I’d discovered about myself today.
Fashionable.
Creative.
Maybe a hippie!
I sighed happily and was just about to put the list back when Andi told me to take her number. I scribbled it down, and I was told to call it whenever I needed to. It sounded vaguely cryptic, but apparently, I would know when I needed to call her, and she would be expecting it too.
A while later Noah and I walked out of the shop. I almost skipped across the parking lot, swinging my shopping bag from side to side. I was excited. I knew more about myself than I had in days, and all of it felt right for some reason that I couldn’t explain.
CHAPTER 28
There was a long, slow knock on the front door and Noah and I both spun around. There was something about that knock that made us both sit up a little straighter. We’d gone from relaxing and slouching in front ofGame of Thronesto both looking at the door with suspicion.
Noah glanced at his watch. “It’s almost seven. No one comes around this late.” He got up off the couch and walked towards the door. It was a slow, deliberate walk and when I followed so was mine. It was as if we could both sense something coming. Something important lurking behind that door. But what?
He looked at me and raised his brows before pulling the door open, a gesture that kind of conveyed an “are you ready?” sentiment. As if he already knew that whatever, or whoever, was behind that door, pertained to me. I nodded at him, and he inched the door open. As soon as he did, I knew exactly what this was about.
“Detective!” I looked down at the file in his hands. “You know who I am!”
“I do.” He smiled at me, as if this really mattered to him.
“Well, tell me!” I declared enthusiastically.
“Your name is Zenobia.”
“Zzzz—what?”
“Zenobia,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. Did you say Zenobia?” I repeated the name. I didn’t feel like a Zenobia at all.
He nodded and I looked to Noah in horror.
“I think people call you Zen for short, because we found your Facebook page.”
“I have a Facebook page?”
“You do. You haven’t actually posted anything there, though. Just a profile picture.”
“Oh,” I said flatly, my enthusiasm starting to wane.
“You haven’t really friended anyone there either,” he added.
“You’re probably not into social media,” Noah offered.
I nodded. This was probably true. “What’s my surname?”
“Small,” he said.
“Small? Zenobia Small?” I said, trying to take this in. Trying to take in these two names that seemed so incongruous to the person I thought I was. These would not be the names I would have chosen for myself. I thought my name would be big, not, literally, small.
“How old am I? Where am I from? Where do I work?”
