But of course Nora noticed. She noticed everything.
Her smile softened, but she shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Nora—”
“No.” She tossed the cardigan back onto the bed. “I am not helping you sabotage yourself because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Emily.”
I looked away.
She stepped into the room properly then, the teasing leaving her face. “Is this about this guy, or is it about someone else still being in your head?”
The question landed more accurately than I liked.
“That’s not fair,” I said quietly.
“No,” she said, just as quietly. “It isn’t. But neither is letting a bad experience dictate your present.”
Bad experience. That was one way of putting it. We weren’t that close, not really. Friendly roommates did not automatically become confidantes, and even back when it was happening, most people around me did not know the extent of it. Maybe because I was ashamed. Maybe because part of me still felt stupid for not naming it sooner. It was easier, even now, to call it a relationship that went wrong.
But that was not what it was.
It was abuse.
I swallowed hard.
Nora looked at me for another moment, and this time when she smiled, it was pure affection. “And let whoever the lucky guy is miss you looking this fine in that dress? Absolutely not.”
I sighed with a shake of my head.
She turned brisk and practical again. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll give you an out. If you get uncomfortable, text me 911 and I’ll call you. Put me on speaker and I’ll go full crisis mode. Tears, panic, the whole thing. Medical emergency. Ludvik is dying.”
I blinked. “Your hamster?”
She looked offended. “My gerbil.”
Despite everything, I laughed. “That’s oddly specific.”
She shrugged. “I like to prepare for disasters.” She jerked her head toward me. “All right, where is this life-threatening date happening?”
I unlocked the screen and showed her the message.
She read it, then let out a low whistle. “Well.”
“What?”
“Your guy is either very lucky or very well connected.” She handed the phone back to me with raised brows. “There’s a six-month waiting list for that place.”
I stared at the name of the restaurant, Venezia, as if it might rearrange itself into something more casual. It didn’t.
“Oh.”
Nora grinned. “Oh, indeed.”
I tried to act as though this information did not rattle me, but it followed me all the way into the Uber.
