I stared at him. “You are a narc.”
Markie nodded and clicked. “GOOD JOB.”
Zoey opened a cabinet and pulled down two glasses. “I need wine.”
“That seems reasonable.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “You want some?”
“Yes.”
She filled both glasses generously and carried them into the living room. I followed her, trying not to overanalyze the situation unfolding around me.
The last time I had been here, the police had been involved.
Now Zoey was pouring wine.
It felt like a significant shift.
She handed me a glass and dropped onto the couch beside me. Not across the room. Not in the armchair. Directly beside me with her knee angled slightly toward mine.
Markie hopped down from the counter and strutted across the floor toward us.
“HEEL.”
“You are a bird,” I told him.
“HEEL.”
Zoey took a long drink of wine and exhaled slowly. “Today has been… intense.”
“I can believe it.”
She leaned back against the couch and studied the ceiling, then turned to me. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being someone I felt safe calling.”
The sentence landed heavily in my chest.
We had only known each other briefly, but I already knew Zoey rarely handed out that kind of trust.
“And,” she continued, “for actually showing up.”
“I would never dream of not helping you.”
The answer came easily because it was true.
Her mouth twitched slightly at the seriousness of my tone. “I know.” She took another drink, then set the glass down on the table in front of us. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last two days.”
My shoulders tensed. That could go in several directions.
“Therapy,” she added.
“That makes sense.”
“It does.” Zoey tucked one leg underneath herself and turned toward me more fully. “I’m working through some things. A lot of old habits. Patterns. The way I respond to people.”
