The café was two blocks from the apartment. Small place. Exposed brick, jazz playing low, the smell of dark roast and something sweet baking in the back. I found a corner table and sat with my back to the wall.
I called Lenora first.
She picked up on the second ring. "Etta."
Just my name. The way she said it—like she'd been waiting—made my throat tighten for exactly one second.
"I need a one-way ticket," I said. "Vancouver. And somewhere to land."
A beat of silence. Not shock. Just her thinking.
"When?"
"Three days."
"Done," she said. "I'll send the confirmation to your email. Don't use the shared one."
"I know."
"Etta." Her voice dropped. "Are you safe right now?"
I looked out the café window. A woman walked by with a stroller. A cab honked. The city moved the way it always moved, completely indifferent.
"Yes," I said. "I'm fine."
She didn't push. That was the thing about Lenora. She'd been through her own version of this. She knew when to ask and when to just move.
"I'll explain everything when I'm there," I said.
"You don't have to explain anything," she said. "Just come."
I hung up and sat with that for a moment. Then I made the second call.
The courier service was efficient. Professional. I gave them the details—sealed hard copy, delivered to a law firm on Park Avenue, held under my name, not to be released to anyone else. The woman on the phone read it back to me without a single question. I thanked her and ended the call.
I set my phone face-down on the table and ordered a latte I didn't really want.
The door opened twelve minutes later.
I felt him before I saw him. The shift in the room. The way the barista smiled a little wider. Liam had that effect everywhere he went.
He slid into the seat across from me and set a coffee down in front of me. He was already smiling. That open, easy smile that used to make my chest ache.
"Tracked you down," he said, like it was charming.
My thumb found my phone under the table. One tap. Recording.
"You didn't have to do that," I said softly.
"I wanted to." He reached across and took my hand. His thumb moved over my knuckles. Gentle. Practiced. "Three more days, baby. I keep thinking about it."
I tilted my face up toward him. Not quite at his eyes. Just past them. Old habit. I'd spent seven years aiming my face at voices. Now it was just useful.
"Me neither," I said.
"I mean it, Etta." His voice went warm and low. "You and me. Finally. I cannot wait to spend my life with you."
Under the table, my thumbnail pressed into my palm. Slow. Deliberate. I felt the small sting of it and let it anchor me.
"I know," I said. "I feel the same way."
He squeezed my hand. Kissed my knuckles. Told me I looked beautiful. I nodded and smiled and let him talk, and the whole time the phone recorded every single word.
---
Haisley came by at four.
Liam was at his office. I was on the couch with a book open in my lap—a prop, mostly, though I had actually been reading it—when I heard her key in the door.
Her key.
I already knew she had one. I'd found it on Liam's key hook two days ago, labeled with a small pink tag. But feeling it was different from knowing it. I kept my face soft and turned toward the sound of the door.
"Etta, hi!" Her voice was warm as fresh bread. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Of course not." I set the book down. "Sit, please."
She sat across from me. Crossed her legs. I could see her clearly—the silk blouse, the careful makeup, the way her eyes moved around the apartment like she was taking inventory of what was already hers.
My phone was in my cardigan pocket. Already recording.
"I just wanted to check in," she said. "With the wedding so close, I know things can get overwhelming."
"That's so sweet of you."
"Liam has been so excited." She tilted her head. "He's been planning this little surprise trip. After everything settles. He's so spontaneous like that, isn't he?"
Needle number one.
"He really is," I said.
"And you must be so excited." She smiled. "For all the changes coming."
Needle number two. She let it hang there, watching my face.
I smiled back at her. Slow. Easy. The smile of a woman who had no idea.
"I really am," I said. "I feel like everything is about to be completely different."
Something flickered in her eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. She thought she'd just twisted the knife.
She had no idea she was handing me the handle.
She left twenty minutes later, looking pleased with herself. I listened to her heels on the hallway floor, the elevator chime, the quiet that followed.
Then I pulled out my phone, stopped the recording, and uploaded it to the folder.
Three days.
I could do three days.
