Raquel tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and tries on a softer smile. It fits weirdly, but maybe she’s practicing. “Look,” she says, “we got off to a bad start.”
“We?If I recall, you were downright mean.”
She huffs out a breath. “Fair.” Her tone drops. “I was actually scared when I heard. That kind of thing doesn’t usually touch the curated crowd. Not like that.”
“It touched,” I say.
Her lower lip trembles, but she tries to hide it. “I’m not trying to fight with you. I don’t see the point.”
“Interesting,” I say, because it is.
“Besides, if you think this is about jealously, it’s not. I’m with Ivan now,” she declares, watching my face closely for my reaction. “Before you say anything, no, I didn’t fall for him on purpose. It just happened. And he’s been different lately. He’s changed. For the better.” She shrugs. “Maybe we’re good for each other.”
I keep my face neutral. Inside, the words feel like icy water trickling down my back.
“So,” she says, gesturing between us, “there’s no reason for this.” Her hand draws a little loop in the air, the universal symbol for drama.
“No reason at all,” I reply. It lands somewhere between agreement and a question mark.
“I meant what I said,” she adds. “About the party. About being scared. Life’s too short.”
For her, that’s basically holding out a branch with an olive taped on. I nod once. “I hear you.”
Alex steps forward. “Time’s up.”
“Of course,” Raquel says, cool again, though the softness hasn’t completely snapped back into armor. “Happy New Year, Cassandra.”
“You too,” I reply coolly, then watch her glide away, the crowd parting around her.
“I need something to eat,” I tell Alex.
He doesn’t argue. We cross the street to a small café. Inside, it’s warm, the pastry case glowing like salvation. My eyes zero in on one thing.
“Pecan tart,” I say, smiling. “Please.”
Alex orders it along with ginger tea for me, coffee for him. We take a table by the window. When the tart arrives, glossy with caramel and studded with pecans, I actually sigh. I take a bite and the top cracks, the filling sweet and nutty.
“If this kid doesn’t come out screaming for pecans, I’ll be shocked,” I say before my brain catches up with my mouth.
Alex smiles. “Better than pickles and ice cream,” he says.
“Do not jinx me,” I tell him, pointing my fork like a weapon. “If I show up at your door at midnight demanding a bagel with, I don’t know, marshmallow fluff, it’s your fault.”
“I’ll keep a stock of pecans,” he says, deadpan. I laugh, some of the weight that’s been sitting on my chest since the hospital lightening up.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
I smile. I can tell he means it. “Thanks.”
He sips his coffee and watches the room the way he always does, alert and ready. A man in a dark coat pauses at the corner of the cafe, head cocked, then moves on. My radar goes up.
“We’re being watched,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes on my tea.
“Not here,” Alex says, just as quiet. “You’re safe.”
“You sure?” I ask, not arguing so much as testing.
He tilts his chin toward the street. “I’ve got two outside and one at the corner. Orlov’s across the way pretending to shop. You’re covered.”
