Page 27 of Never After Us
And when they do, they take pieces of you that never grow back right.
“As long as you don’t bring me tea tomorrow morning, I’ll do it,” he says, sounding like he’s negotiating terms for his sanity—or mine.
That ridiculous warmth tries to crawl up my throat again.Absolutely not.No swooning.Swooning is banned,Mara.
“I can’t make any promises,” I warn him, lifting my chin.“Maybe I’ll hold the lavender for a day or two.”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile, and something inside me lurches so hard I have to mentally slap myself.You are not swooning over a man offering to rearrange furniture.You are not a Victorian heroine whose knees buckle over a well-timed act of competence.
Absolutely not.
“That’s all I’m asking,” he says.“Not too much joy in one cup.”
He steps inside first, guiding the movers with an ease that makes the whole hallway shift around his presence, and I stand there a second too long—caught between irritation and whatever it is that I refuse to acknowledge now and maybe ever.
I shouldn’t wonder why he’s suddenly helping.I shouldn’t let it get under my skin.What matters isn’t him.
What matters is what’s buried inside all those boxes—what my aunt left for me to face, and why she trusted me with the things she never had the courage to unpack herself.And why the thought of opening them feels like standing at the edge of something I can’t avoid anymore.
ChapterEight
Alec
The sidewalk on 2ndAvenue smells like damp concrete and burnt coffee, and honestly, that tracks.My whole morning feels like it was steeped in disappointment and left on a hot plate too long.I shove my free hand into my jacket pocket while the other keeps my cellphone pressed to my ear—the old Nokia that could survive nuclear fallout but apparently, I can’t handle Eddie’s sarcasm.
“Let me get this straight.You want me to have my people run a background check on your new neighbor?”Eddie repeats, like he’s checking whether I’ve hit my head.“Alec, buddy ...are you afraid she’s part of the PTO?Gonna make you sell cookie dough?I wouldn’t mind ordering some of those cinnamon braids they sell close to the holidays.”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Edgar,” I warn him, though I’m not even sure what I’m warning him about.My voice comes out tight enough that a passing woman yanks her tiny dog closer like I’m a threat.
Fair.I do sound unhinged.
“It’s hard to when you’re not making sense,” Eddie says, and I can practically hear the eye roll.“Start from the top.What exactly happened?”
What happened?
Chaos.That’s what happened.
I drag a hand through my hair and stare ahead, like the brownstone across the street might hold the answers.“I just spent the last hour rearranging a dead woman’s penthouse so we could cram a pile of mysterious boxes inside without blocking the hallway.And then I had to let that ...that woman and her tiny interrogation officer into my morning.”
“Mila, her daughter, right?”he asks.
“Don’t say her name like she’s adorable.”
“She sounds fucking adorable.”
“She is a menace,” I hiss.“She asked me why I don’t like children.With a notebook.And a pen.She started taking notes about me, Eddie.Notes.”
Eddie hums thoughtfully.“Well ...maybe she’ll publish a biography.That could be good for your career if she does it right.”
“You’re not fucking helping,” I mutter.
A taxi blares at someone crossing against the light.My heart lurches at the noise.I was already wound tight, but now everything inside me feels like piano wire.
The boxes.
The tea.
The fucking questions that wouldn’t stop.
