Then April let out a low, delighted whistle.
“Well, well, Harper,” she said. “Look at you, making headlines in your own life.”
“Please do not sayheadlines,” Eleanor said. “We had plenty of those already.”
April’s tone softened.
“How are you, really?”
Eleanor watched the town ease into view ahead—the familiar brick buildings, the mountains rising behind them.
“I’m…” She searched for the word. “Complicated.”
“He treated you right?” April asked.
“Yes,” Eleanor said, and that at least was simple. “He did.”
“Good,” April said. “He screws that up, I know people who can make his pretty car disappear.”
Eleanor huffed a laugh.
“Leave the Jag out of this.”
“No promises.”
The sign for downtown parking loomed up ahead.
“Listen,” Eleanor said, signaling. “I’m almost at the Cotton Exchange. If I keep talking, Declan will be waiting in the lobby with a notepad.”
“He already is,” April said. “Text me later. I want details. Tasteful details. Maybe slightly less tasteful if you’re in the mood.”
“Goodbye, April.”
“Goodbye, Nell,” April sing-songed. “Enjoy your walk of ‘totally normal Monday, no one look at me.’”
Eleanor ended the call, shaking her head, but the smile lingered as she turned into the lot.
The Cotton Exchange
She parked in her usual spot behind the old brick Cotton Exchange building, the three-story structure rising above her, tall windows and faded painted sign from another century.
The morning air was cool against her skin as she stepped out of the car and slung her bag over her shoulder.
Downtown Sylva was waking up—delivery trucks on the side streets, someone hosing off a sidewalk, the smell of coffee drifting from the shop on the corner.
Eleanor climbed the narrow interior staircase to the third floor, the wooden treads muffling the sound of her heels against the runner.
The glass door at the end of the landing bore simple black lettering:
Harper & Associates, PLLC
She pushed it open.
Deck looked up from the reception desk—Frannie’sreception desk—wire-rimmed glasses low on his nose, silver hair sticking up in three different directions.
“Aye,” he said. “Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.”
Frannie, perched on a stool behind a stack of files, tried and failed to smother a grin.
