Page 11 of No Headlines Please

But I'd done it for her.

Hadn't I?

Somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, it occurred to me that I'd just made dinner plans with a complete stranger – which seemed half-insane, considering I was here to see my sister.

This, of course, assumed she wanted to see me at all.

Maybe that's why I'd agreed to dinner – to have somewhere else to go if she rejected the olive branch – or more accurately, the hydrangea.

Or maybe I just wanted another excuse to look at the guy in the suit, preferably while not clobbering him with a potted plant.

There it sat on the gleaming kitchen counter, looking slightly out of place, just like my busted suitcase, which sat off to the side with one corner sagging.

The apartment wasn't huge, but everything had its place, from the colorful throw pillows to the neatly framed artwork on the walls.

My gaze landed on a framed photo of me and Tessa from the summer I'd graduated high school. We were both sunburned, with our arms slung around each other, laughing at something outside the frame.

We looked happy.

But the truth was a lot more complicated.

And now we weren't talking at all.

I felt tears prick at my eyes. Somehow, I had to fix this.

Deliberately, I pulled my gaze from the photo and took in the rest of her place. All of it was pure Tessa – with clean lines, thoughtful details, and just enough polish to remind me she'd always had her life a little more together than I had.

The only thing remotely messy was a haphazard stack of books on the small side table near the balcony door. I smiled at the sight. Tessa loved to read, making it one of the few things we actually had in common.

Books or no books, I couldn't see a single speck of dust.

With a twinge of dread, I looked down at my feet, wondering if I'd brought some of my own mess with me.

On the entryway rug, there was no dirt – thank goodness – but there was something that made my breath catch in my throat.

It was a white sheet of paper – a legal-looking document with very small print, except for the two words at the top, practically screaming in bright red ink.

Eviction Notice.

My stomach dropped.

What the heck?

5

Just Another Saturday

Maddox

Delaney Sinclair had been upstairs for maybe ten minutes when the building's main door swung open, and I heard the click of heels on tile.

I glanced up to see two women – a brunette and a blonde – crossing the lobby in fitted dresses and high heels, each carrying a glossy gift bag stuffed with colorful tissue paper. They were laughing and chatting about who knew what.

As the women crossed the lobby, I buttoned my jacket over the dirt-stained shirt and looked back to my phone. I was just about to hit send on a text when the clicking abruptly stopped.

A split-second later, the chatting stopped, too.

I didn't bother looking up. If I was lucky, they'd keep walking.