“That’s right, you’re a tech genius like Wes!” she says, wiping her bangs with the back of her hand. “Ugh, I’m so jealous. I’ve never been good with technology. I think I actually heard my laptop sigh when I googled how to take a screenshot last night. I always forget.”
Okay, I like her. A lot. She’s so… easy to be around. “Well, I can write code, but the only thing I can cook is breakfast tacos, so I’m pretty jealous of your skills. What are you making? It smells so good.”
Her enthusiasm only grows as she delights in the opportunity to talk food. “A couple of things! Some freezer meals and quick protein for the guys, and dinner tonight is wild mushroom risotto with pan-seared chicken breasts in a white wine sauce with a garden salad.”
My jaw falls as she casually drops the most gourmet meal on a random Wednesday. Despite how my stomach grumbles, I resist the urge to demand how long I have to wait. “Dios mio, girl, you can’t just say things like that to me. I’m over here salivating now. Is this place a safe house or a Michelin-starred restaurant?”
Her grin is so happy, it’s infectious. “I’m a chef,” she says proudly. “But enough about me. I want to hear how you got into your line of work with Wes—I bet it’s a hell of a story.” She considers that, then asks, “That’s your meet-cute, right?”
“We—”
Her head comes up. “Oh, shoot, wait a minute,” she says, leaning forward and craning her neck to see out the wall of windows. “I meant to wait to ask so Nicole could hear the story, too. Here she comes.”
The nurse in question breezes back into the kitchen and settles on the seat at the head of the table. Her mini horse lifts one drooping eyelid in interest then perks up, his tail thumping twice when he sees her, and promptly drops his head back onto his paws like it weighs too much to hold it up. I bet it does.
Nicole smiles to herself as she lays the first aid kit on the table in front of her and begins unzipping the bright red bag. “I didn’t realize all Great Danes did was eat and sleep,” she muses.
“What a life,” Eleanor agrees, then gestures my way, pointing at me with the tip of her chef’s knife. “Madison was just about to tell me how she and Wes met.”
Nicole threads the loops of a mask around her ears and pulls on a pair of gloves. “Dimitri said you’re one of Wesley’s spiders?”
“Is that what he calls us? I guess it makes sense since his handle is SpyderMan. The man loves a pun.” I laugh, bending my arm and offering her my elbow. “Sucha nerd.”
“Can confirm,” Eleanor laughs. “So? The meet-cute?”
I wince at the stinging sensation on my arm as Nicole swabs the area with an alcohol wipe. “Ah!”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Noproblemo, just warn a girl, eh, Nurse Ratchet?” I joke, trying to lighten her mood.
But it doesn’t land how I thought it would, and my stomach nearly falls out of my butt as Nicole’s brows lift and she says, “Of course. Sorry again.” Her voice is muffled by the crinkling noise of the mask, but her tone sounds tight.
“I didn’t… um…” I grapple with how to backpedal effectively. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it… It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously, it was a bad one.”
She won’t meet my eye; she just says, “It’s fine. You were saying?”
“Um…” I hesitate, but there’s not much I can say to undo it, so I’ll just move on and hope she’s not really offended by stupid jokes. “About two years ago, I found him in one of the forums I was using at the time to sell tips. He posted a job, I had the info he was looking for, and the rest was history,” I finish lamely. I’m not usually trite, but I’m nervous.
“I didn’t realize you’d known each other for so long,” Eleanor remarks.
“We’ve talked almost every day since we met,” I admit, feeling a little heat rising to my cheeks at the admission, for some reason.
It only burns hotter when Eleanor cries, “Aw! So this is like a friends-to-lovers situation?”
“More like… intentionally anonymous internet coworkers secretly pining for each other… to lovers.”
“I’d watch the hell out of that Hallmark movie,” Eleanor declares.
But focused Nicole isn’t nearly so romantic. “Just a Band-Aid,” she says, an exaggerated warning in her tone as she starts unwrapping it.
It just about kills me to do it, but I bite back the retort. Once the bandage is in place, she collects all the trash and gets up from the table. After tossing it, she slides onto one of the counter-height stools that I know I’m going to have to leap onto, and turns to study me with a tilted head. “What does it mean to be an informant? Where do you get your information?”
It’s not that I’m not proud of what I do, but I try not to air all my dirty, illegal laundry with people I just met—especially ones who I’ve accidentally already offended. With a teasing grin, I waggle my finger. “It’s classified.”
Eleanor giggles at my joke, but Nicole’s eyes narrow. She shrugs, like she doesn’t really care, and reaches towards the fruit bowl in the middle of the island. Peeling a clementine, she says, “I guess you don’t really have to talk to us about it… but if it’s the reason someone’s trying to kill you, we kind of already know. Stuff like that’s not really classified in this house.”
I catch a whiff of something guarded in her tone, and I glance at Eleanor for her reaction. Eleanor’s smile has faltered, and she’s looking at Nicole with gentle censure. “What Nicole means is that we’re close knit. But whatever happened to you is your business. Tell us if you feel comfortable.”
