“God, I hope so,” she muttered as the silence on the other side of the door grew.
She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She could still feel his presence, even through the barrier between them. She shivered. Her internal warning system was blaring! The man was to be avoided at all costs.
Pushing away from the door, she pulled her hood down, revealing a riot of tangled black curls that framed her face like an unkempt halo.
Her skin was the warm shade of creamer stirred into strong coffee. Her features were sharp and soft all at once—high cheekbones, almond-shaped dark eyes, and a heart-shaped face with the quiet beauty of mixed heritage. She had no idea who her father was except that he had been an American soldier on leave. Her mother had been of Asian descent.
Kiki didn’t care anymore.
She was a ghost in the world—invisible by choice.
She stepped further into the small apartment. It was an eclectic boho mix of muted colors and clashing patterns. Books lined every wall, softening the cramped apartment like insulation made of stories.
The windowsill above the radiator overflowed with dried rose petals and the herbs that she grew in a terracotta pot. A patchwork quilt lay rumpled over the secondhand floral couch like a sleeping cat. It was one of her many thrift store treasures.
Speaking of attitude wrapped in fur?—
“Ms. Peabody,” she murmured.
A tiny, imperious meow answered her, followed by the soft thump of a calico fluff ball landing gracefully on the narrow counter. The cat blinked at her, tail curling around her paws like royalty awaiting tribute.
“I know. I know. He’s still out there. But don’t worry. If I move again, you’re coming with me. Maybe Alaska this time. Men don’t follow you to Alaska, and you’ve got plenty of hair to keep you warm,” sheteased.
She gave Ms. Peabody a scratch behind the ears before placing her now-squished groceries on the counter. She studied her dinner options. Chicken tikka microwave dinner and the avocado that hadn’t survived the trip home without bruises would have to be good enough for tonight.
“Here’s your gourmet dinner.”
She opened a can of tuna-flavored cat food—at least that is what the label said it was—and poured it into the cat dish. She tilted her head, listening with quiet amusement to a muffled voice coming from the hallway.
Harvey. Definitely Harvey. Pleading. Animated.
Something about giving her a chance. That she really wasn’t as strange as she seemed.
“Oh, if only you knew how strange I really am, Harvey. You and Jim would both be screaming and doing the sign of the cross,” Kiki chuckled.
Her chest tightened at the thought of alienating the two men who had been so sweet to her. She hated the part where good intentions twisted into guilt. The part where hope tangled with fear. Harvey and Jim meant well, but they didn’t understand what it cost her to let people in. To even try.
“I should never have agreed to going out,” she groaned.
She blinked hard, refusing to let the burning behind her eyes win. She read the directions for her less-than-appetizing dinner and placed it in the microwave. She would eat, relax for a bit, then do a little research—on Nikos Aeto.
She started when a knock sounded at the door.
“Kiki,” Harvey called softly, “please, just open the door. Let him say hello.”
The microwave beeped. She opened it and pulled out her meal, glancing at it before she looked at Ms. Peabody.
“What do you think?” she asked.
She released a dry laugh when Ms. Peabody sneezed.
Kiki sighed. “Okay, okay. I answer the door.”
Resigned, she picked up Ms. Peabody, hugging her like a shield, and padded back to the door. The cat didn’t even complain about dinner being interrupted. Who could eat with strangers around?
“Be polite, get rid of him, flee to Alaska,” she breathed, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths before she opened them. “You can do this. Just—don’t touch and don’t look too closely.”
Ms. Peabody meowed in response, though the sound was quiet and cautious.
