“Let me see the file.” Noah held out his hand and I passed it to him. He walked over to the coffee table and placed it down. He grabbed a pencil and started drawing on one of the pages.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Hang on.” He held his hand up, silencing me, as if he was deep in concentration. And then when he was done, he pushed the paper towards me and I bent in to read it.
“Zoe?” I read out loud.
“It’s a partial anagram.”
“Zoe,” I repeated. “Zo-eee. I kind of love that.”
“Zoe,” Noah said, and this time, something about the way he said it, about the way it sounded coming out of his mouth, I knew! I just knew it was right!
“ZOE! That should be my name. My name should be Zoe!” I said excitedly. “My name is Zoe and I’m a graphic designer, or a copywriter, or something cool like that!”
Noah smiled. “Makes sense, Zoe.”
“Oh my God. That is the first time you’ve said my name—well, the name I’ve just given myself, which is so much better than Zen. So maybe my parents didn’t have the most up-to-date ideas when it came to naming, but I love this. Zoe!”
“It suits you,” Noah said, his face so bright with that smile spread across it. “So, shall we go to your apartment?”
“Now?” I asked.
“Aren’t you desperate to see what Zoe’s life looks like?”
“I am, but are you okay with that? I mean, it’s seven and it’s getting late and—”
“I’d love to!” He reached for his car keys, and a thought came to me.
“Wait, I bet that key on my keyring is for my apartment.” I rushed back to the room and picked up the strange keyring with the small, single key on.
I was about to discover who I was, and I couldn’t wait!
CHAPTER 29
The detective was right. I lived exactly thirty minutes away from Noah. The suburb we drove into was very different to Noah’s, though. His had trees and green sidewalks; this was a built-up suburb that contained row after row of apartment developments and hardly any greenery. This struck me as odd.Why would I choose to live in such a place?But maybe there were other reasons I hadn’t considered. Maybe this was close to my work? Maybe this was all I could afford? So many questions that were surely about to be answered. We parked in the visitors’ parking lot and walked into the building. I was just minutes away from putting the last pieces together and finding out who I was. I’d solved much of that mystery already. I was just waiting for the final pieces to fall into place. I saw a doorman and quickly made a beeline for him.
“Hey,” I called out happily, sure he would know me.
And he did!I could see it the second his eyes met mine. His eyes widened as a look of recognition swept over his face. He’d probably been wondering where I was this last week. I smiled, hoping to match his smile, the one that was surely about to come. Only it didn’t. He didn’t smile. At all. Not even vaguely. Not even a little twitch of one on the corner of his lips. The shadow of a twitch even. Instead, he looked down and picked up a pencil and paper. He tapped the pen against the desk, as if . . .he was avoiding me?
“Hey,” I said again, and this time he mumbled something that I couldn’t quite hear. This would be the first person I’d met that knew me. Therealme.
“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you,” I said.
“Good evening, Miss Small,” he said, not making eye contact.
“Good evening!” I looked behind at Noah and shot him a thumbs-up. “Did you hear that? He called me Miss Small!”
“How are you today?” I asked, turning back to him. At that, his eyes flicked up quickly, he scrunched his face, crinkled his brow and then he looked over my shoulder at Noah. He seemed to stare at Noah, and I wasn’t sure why. Finally, after what felt like forever, he looked up at me briefly and then back down at his pencil.
“Fine,” he said flatly, as if he was putting as little effort as possible into his answer. It didn’t sound like a warm “fine” or a happy “fine.” In fact, it didn’t soundfineat all.
“That’s great,” I declared, waiting for him to ask me if I was also fine. But he didn’t. He started tapping his pencil against the paper instead and then, with his other hand, reached for his phone. Well, maybe we weren’t so close. Maybe we didn’t know each other that well. Maybe he hadn’t worked here for that long. Maybe our paths hardly crossed. Maybe we didn’t have conversations at all. He was a doorman—maybe he liked to maintain a level of professionalism. I could respect that.
Noah walked up to me and I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a very brief squeeze, but I could feel he was trying to convey something in it.
“Let’s go,” he said softly. His tone had taken on a cadence that I hadn’t really heard before. There was something in his voice. An anticipation of something.Of what?
