Page 85 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

“To exploration.”

They toasted.

“Are we ordering like your mom would have?” Veronica asked, scanning the menu.

“Let’s just have a normal meal,” Henry suggested.

“I’m down with that,” Mariah agreed. The night was cooler than she’d imagined, and she pulled a shawl around her shoulders. “I definitely want some finger foods, the olives and apricots and bread,” she said, “although I know you guys already had some.”

They debated the qualities of tagines, andpastilla. “Pigeon?” Veronica echoed. “Hmm. It’s new, but ... that’s hard to think about, for me.”

“Some women here don’t eat pigeon or dove to honor a woman named Lalla Zohra, who took the shape of a dove at night to fly around the city and do miracles,” Henry said. “You can just claim to be one of her acolytes.”

“That’s a great story,” Mariah said. “I’ve never heard it before.”

Veronica beamed at him. “Thank you for letting me off the hook.”

Henry smiled back, lingering, and Mariah saw something shining from him. A light she hadn’t seen in him before.

Oh, shit. It wasVeronica. Who sat there all dewy and pretty, all for Henry.

That raised a lot of tangled feelings in her gut, things she didn’t have any right to feel, and she didn’t want to deal with them anyway. She focused back on the menu.

After they ordered, she realized she was still too cold. “I need to get a sweater,” she said. “Veronica, do you want me to grab something for you?”

Veronica scooted back her chair. “I’ll go.”

“I’ve got it. The exercise is good for me, right?” She waved Veronica back down. “Where is it?”

“Mine is on the back of the couch, I think. I had it there earlier.”

“I’ll be back.”

She wove her way through the network of hallways and stairs, remembering the tricks she’d learned over time, and let herself into the small complex. A lamp glittered in the courtyard between their rooms, casting star-shaped light on the walls and the fountain. She picked up Veronica’s sweater and turned back toward her room, noticing a cat lounging by the fountain. She reached over to stroke its ears.

The cat growled at something behind her, and Mariah jolted in fear, worried it might be a snake or something, but when she turned, there was nothing. Only the lamp, shimmering, and then—

Oh, cold. Such cold. Despairing, icy cold. A hundred times worse than whatever was in the basement at home. She froze in it, arms locked around her chest.

And then it was gone.

For a long minute, she stood still, waiting. Was she just out of her mind? Were all the psychic shows she’d been watching making her imagine things?

The cat wound around her ankles, and she bent down to pet it. “What do you think, baby?”

It blinked, gave a little meow, then headed off through some hidden door and disappeared. The lamp shimmered, steady and bright.

She shook her head and went back downstairs.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

In Mariah’s absence, Henry slipped his big foot out of his sandal, and covered Veronica’s arch with his own. In the candlelight, he looked rakish, his thick hair curling against his neck, that full lower lip inviting.

She felt awash in a mingling of things she’d forgotten existed. Anticipation, for sure, but also simply pleasure. Pleasure in looking at him, in feeling his skin against hers, in imagining how it would be to kiss him again.

What would it feel like to simply enjoy the moment at hand?

Her phone buzzed on the table, and he covered her hand. “Don’t look. It will only make you upset.”