Page 39 of Never After Us
“And she lives.”Ariadne gasps dramatically.“Tell me you’re not calling because Mila dyed her hair blue.”
“No,” I say, flopping backward onto the pillows.“But that’s a terrifyingly specific guess.”
“She’s the child of an artist and the niece of a woman who once gave herself bangs with sewing scissors.History repeats itself.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and choose to ignore her conclusion.“I found something.”
“Uh-oh.”A pause.“What kind of something?The good kind?The cursed kind?The ‘burn this before it summons a demon’ kind?”She clears her throat.“Also, where are you?Did you make it to Seattle, or are you secretly in Spain living under an alias?”
“I made it.And I found a shoebox.”
“That tells me nothing, Mara.What’s in it?A finger?A deed to a horse?A secret adoption certificate?”
I swallow.“Letters.”
“Oooh, now I’m intrigued.”I hear her sit up, probably on the edge of her couch.“What kind of letters?And if you start reading me the alphabet, I’m hanging up.”
“No,” I huff.“This is serious.”
To distract myself, I reach into the box beside me and pull out one of the records.
I freeze.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.“I found gold.”
“What?I thought we were talking about letters,” Ariadne says, thoroughly offended.“Now you’re rich?”
“No, listen—original Beatles vinyl.Revolver.And it’s in good condition.”
Ariadne gasps like I’ve just revealed state secrets.“Okay, okay, I take back everything I said.You keep that thing safe and guarded like it’s your second child.”
I’m about to answer Ariadne when Alec—my very charming and medically allergic-to-joy neighbor—finally stops strumming whatever off-key nonsense he’s torturing that guitar with and actually speaks.
“Don’t you know the meaning of silence?”he calls out, voice dry enough to sand wood.
“Yes, of course I do,” I fire back, turning toward his balcony before my brain can stop me.
And there he is.
Wearing a Henley shirt that fits him too well, every line of muscle beneath it is a personal attack on my self-control.My stomach does a ridiculous swoop—like it’s been waiting its whole life for this exact visual—and I immediately yank those thoughts back into the vault where they belong.
Absolutely not.
We are not doing this.
Not swooning over the grump in casual cotton.
“Then why don’t you practice it?”he adds, and his tone is no help whatsoever.Low.Smooth.That syrupy husk that slides right into my ears like it knows the layout.
My glare zeroes in on him as I lift my chin toward the balcony divide.“I am minding my own business on my side of the fence.”
“Who is that?”Ariadne demands in my ear, practically licking her lips with curiosity.
“My very grumpy neighbor,” I say sweetly—sickly sweet—and then I twist the knife.“Mila thinks he’s broken.”
“I’m not broken,” he calls back instantly, affronted.
My smirk grows three sizes.
