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  We board a Metro-North train, and another thirty minutes pass before we arrive at Scarsdale station. I have no idea where Scarsdale is, or why we’re here. When we get out of the station, Nora stops at a bench and unbuttons her work shirt. She’s wearing a black undershirt made from a meshlike material. Her bra is showing, and I try to not stare at her figure as she shoves her shirt into her bag and zips it back up.

  Nora takes out her earbuds and pulls her phone out of her purse, and I hide behind a sign for an insurance company. “I’m here; I’ll meet the driver outside the station. How was his dinner? Did he eat at all?” she asks whoever is on the line.

  A few seconds pass. “Well, I’ll help. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  She hangs up the phone and puts it in her pocket, then turns toward where I’m hiding. I duck down farther.

  What was my plan here? Whose driver is picking her up?

  Just when I think I’m in the clear, I hear Nora say, “Your feet are sticking out from under that sign, Landon.”

  chapter

  Seven

  I PEEK AROUND THE SIGN to see Nora walking toward me. Her dark hair shadows her face. She looks like a villain under the fluorescent lighting in the station parking lot. She’s wearing tight black jeans with a rip in one knee, and her black bra is showing through the mesh fabric of her tank top. Is she even allowed to have a rip in her jeans while baking things for customers to consume? More important, why am I thinking about that right now?

  I stand still as she approaches me, her prey, in the middle of nowhere. To be honest, the train systems here still freak me out. I can’t read the signs, I can’t stand people packing in around me like sardines, and I hate being trapped underground, but when I’m aboveground sometimes I get a little motion sick.

  How the hell am I going to get back if I can’t even read the signs?

  Where the hell is Scarsdale, anyway?

  Nora waits for me to walk out from my “hiding” spot. “You didn’t think I knew you were following me since Lookout?” She raises a brow, studying me.

  I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pulled out a whip, or a sword, with the way she’s commanding her surroundings. She’s not timid, she’s enchanting, and being out in the dark night with her here only adds to the mystery of her. I feel like I’m in a movie, and her dark green eyes look nearly black instead of their normal brown-green.

  Nora stops two feet in front of me and pulls her cell phone, not a sword, out of her back pocket. She quickly checks the screen and puts it away.

  “I’ve taken two self-defense classes,” she begins, highlighting how terrible my spy skills are. “I saw you as soon as we turned on Nostrand. I was waiting for you to approach me.” She pauses, and her full lips turn up in a smile. “But you just kept following me. What’s up with that?”

  Her hand touches my arm briefly.

  She officially thinks I’m insane, or maybe she’s a little insane herself.

  I rub my hand over the back of my neck and try to think of an explanation. “Well”—I nervously clear my throat—“well, I wanted to talk to you after your shift.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop me? You know, instead of following me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She smiles. “Yes, you do. Just say it. Just say why you followed me. I have this special ability to tell when people are lying. It’s my greatest talent, really.” Her eyes square with mine. “So, let me ask you again. Why did you follow me an hour and a half from Brooklyn to Scarsdale?”

  Without even a second thought, I just begin speaking: “I wanted to talk to you hours ago when I was at your work, and I know you knew I was there, but you didn’t say hi or anything. You haven’t come by in a week. You haven’t called me or anything.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  She licks her lips, and I remember what she tastes like. Her hands on me, her tongue gently caressing mine. I’m glad she can’t read my mind.

  “You texted me the day we went out.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

  She contemplates. Her fingers are steady as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Okay, so what did you want to talk about?” Nora leans back against a wall and bends her knee. She’s getting comfortable before she calls me out for being creepy.

  What exactly did I want to talk about? Should I tell her that I wanted to check on her? That I missed her? She claims she’ll know if I lie.

  The words tumble from my mouth—“I missed you”—and Nora’s back straightens against the wall.

  “Where were you going? Where are we?” I ask after a few seconds of silence.

  Before Nora responds, she tenses. She looks over at me, then past me.

  When I turn around, I spot a guy in a suit walking toward us. “Ms. Crawford,” he says, this man who is massive, a real-life giant.

  Okay, maybe not a giant, but he looks huge as he steps up next to Nora.

  “Chase,” she says, and smiles. It’s a strange smile, unreal. “I’m coming. I was just saying bye to my friend. He helped me get here all the way from Brooklyn. Such a nice guy, he is.” Her eyes dart to his and then back to mine.

  I have no idea what’s going on.

  Nora gives me a small wave and follows the man, who I assume is the driver she mentioned a few minutes ago on her phone call.

  “That’s it? You’re not going to talk to me after I came all the way here?” I lift my hands in the air. I stare at Nora’s back.

  She doesn’t turn to face me. “I appreciate you coming!” she calls back.

  She disappears around the side of the building, and I groan in frustration.

  Why the heck did I come here? Now I have to find my way back to Brooklyn at close to midnight. I should have gone after her instead of just standing here and letting her walk away with her bodyguard friend.

  Who the heck was that guy, anyway? She changed her shirt and took her hair down—why?

  Does she have a secret boyfriend here?

  Is she a stripper?

  Is she in a cult?

  Does she possess multiple personalities?

  Who freaking knows.

  • • •

  When I get back to my neighborhood, two hours later, my door is locked. Since I gave Hardin my key when I sent him back to my apartment alone, I hope he answers the door. At first I knock gently, but when that doesn’t work, I pound a little harder, and a few seconds later Hardin opens the door, shirtless and half-asleep.

  He rubs his hands over his eyes. “I thought you were in your room this whole time, Ninja.”

  “I was with Nora.” I decide to save the pathetic details for later.

  Hardin raises a brow and flops back onto the couch, which looks so small with his long body lying on it. His feet hang over the edge. I’m surprised he’s on the couch and not in Tessa’s room, but I don’t have the energy to ask about it, and it doesn’t look like he has the energy to explain, either.

  “Good night,” I tell him, and go straight into my room.

  My head pounds for hours as I try to sleep.

  • • •

  I wake up ten minutes before my alarm and have to force myself to get out of bed. I can’t believe I slept until eleven. I have work at noon and get off at four. Not too long a shift, considering that six to two is my usual on a Saturday morning, so today will be a breeze. More of a breeze if I get to work with Posey instead of Aiden.

  One can only hope. Four hours with Aiden feels like eight. But with Posey, four hours will feel like thirty minutes.

  During my shower, I force myself to put on my happy face. I can’t mope around work all day. I go through the motions of my morning routine. Shower, lotion, face lotion, because Tessa tells me I need to use that. Clothes: a white T-shirt and black jeans. Coffee: black and strong.

  En route to the kitchen I see Hardin isn’t alone on the couch anymore. His arm is tightly wrapped around Tessa’s body, and Tessa’s face is buried in his chest. I’m not one bit su
rprised.

  I need to eat something small before work, but I don’t want to wake either of them. The bananas on the counter look rotten, and I shouldn’t try to cook anything. I open the cabinet and grab the first box of cereal I see.

  Just when I stick my entire hand into the box, I hear the unmistakable shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor. It must have been the coffee machine that woke them, or the crunching of the bag of Frosted Flakes. I don’t remember the box being here yesterday, but anyone who brings food into our place has to know that it’s fair game. I chomp on the dry cereal quickly, regretting trying to eat a fistful in one bite. I grab my coffee from the counter and walk toward the hallway. I find Tessa. As my smile grows, her cheeks bloom a deep red.

  “What?” Tessa asks, not meeting my eyes.

  I lift my coffee to my face. “Nooooo-thing.” I take a sip, and Tessa gives me a signature eye roll and retreats back to her room, where apparently Hardin has scampered off to as well.

  • • •

  When I get to work, Aiden is behind the counter. Great.

  “Hey, man, rough night?” He bro-fives me, and I cringe.

  “You could say that.”

  I clock in, wishing I had one of those remotes from that Adam Sandler movie that freezes time. I’m not saying I would punch him or anything, but I’m also not saying I wouldn’t.

  “Me, too, man. Me, too.” The bell on the door rings, and I look away from the hickey on Aiden’s neck.

  Why does he always have a hickey? Who does that anymore?

  “Whoa. Look,” Aiden’s bro-voice whispers, and I look toward the door.

  Nora walks in, her hair down and messy about her shoulders, and she’s wearing a light denim shirt tucked into white pants. The whole effect is stunning.

  “Hey.” She smiles at me, and I hear Aiden suck in a surprised breath.

  “Hey.” I wipe my hands on my apron and turn to her.

  Aiden quickly asks Nora if she wants anything to drink. She smiles at him, and I can see him straighten his back and tuck his shirt in. Just for her. Never mind that he has a hickey on his neck; that must not bother him.

  “What do you recommend?” she asks him, and it annoys me.

  It shouldn’t annoy me.

  “Hmm, well, you look like an experienced coffee cond-i-saur.”

  God, I hope she recognizes that he said it wrong. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume he meant connoisseur.

  “What is that, like, a dinosaur?” I say suddenly.

  Why did I say that? What’s wrong with me? I even did the awkward chuckle at my own lame attempt at a joke.

  Nora smiles, her fingers pressed to her lips. Aiden laughs, but I have a feeling he’s either annoyed or doesn’t know why we’re all chuckling.

  “I would recommend trying our new coconut-milk latte,” Aiden says, grabbing a paper cup and his Sharpie.

  Nora steps forward, toward the counter. “I don’t like coconut milk.”

  I bite back a smile. Aiden pauses.

  Nora looks at me. “What’s that drink you make Tessa? The one with banana?”

  I can feel Aiden’s ego deflating next to me.

  The resultant breeze feels amazing.

  I take the cup and the Sharpie from Aiden and scribble Nora’s name on the cup, mostly because it’s fun to write. “It’s a macchiato with hazelnut and banana. I can make you one.”

  Nora pays for her coffee, and Aiden continues to try to make small talk with her while I pump the flavoring into the cup.

  “When does your shift end?” Nora asks when I hand her the custom drink.

  “Four. I just got here a few minutes ago.”

  Nora takes a cautious sip, blowing into the cup first. “Okay. I’ll wait here.”

  Maybe she heard me wrong. “Wait here? It’s four hours from now.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not that busy. I’m sure it’s fine if I take a table in the back?” Nora stares at me without even glancing toward Aiden.

  The way she’s looking at me makes me feel important, and I think I like knowing that it’s driving Aiden crazy that someone like Nora would choose to stare at me and not him.

  “Yeah, of course,” I say.

  She smiles, knowing damn well that I wasn’t going to send her away.

  chapter

  Eight

  DESPITE WHAT NORA SAID, Grind ends up being unusually busy for a Saturday afternoon, and Aiden’s body is moving slower than usual. He’s forgotten two orders, written the wrong name on three cups, and dropped a bottle of mint flavoring on the floor. I was the one who mopped it up.

  With Nora watching silently from the back corner, I was too impatient to wait for him to fill the mop bucket and ever so slowly swipe the bundles of yarn across the slippery stain. Besides, the smell was awful, the heavy aroma of the mint syrup giving me an instant headache, and I knew I could have the area mopped before he even finished filling up the bucket. He didn’t thank me, of course; rather, he snidely reminded me not to forget the WET FLOOR sign.

  I had hoped the constant line in the shop would keep my mind off Nora sitting there, watching me. But it didn’t. I feel anxious with her here, and I can’t help but look over every few seconds at where she’s sitting. Still, I’m working fine despite the distraction, unlike Aiden. Apparently, he can’t handle the pressure of the line of caffeine zombies. I can’t remember when my brain switched from being annoyed by him to setting him up as competition in my head. Weird.

  I hand a woman named Julie her triple skim-milk latte and glance at Nora again. She’s writing something down in a notebook. Not looking at me. I can’t tell what it is she’s writing. It makes me feel a little like she’s a cop on a stakeout.

  I take this moment to enjoy the view of her. She’s relaxed, her pen between her fingers. She taps the pen on the paper a few times and recrosses her legs. I love the way her lips pout. The feminine bow of her top lip sticks out a touch more than the bottom.

  “Dude!” Aiden’s voice barges into my obsessive thoughts about Nora’s lips. When I look at him, I notice that the line has calmed: only two more guests are waiting on their drinks . . . but my feet are wet. Why?

  Aiden’s pointing to the pitcher of green tea pouring onto the floor, and my feet. I grab the handle and yank it up, replacing the lid. The puddle isn’t too big; only half the pitcher is gone. I look over to see Nora watching me now, a smile on her face. My cheeks heat up, and I grab the mop. I force my busy brain to only think about mopping. Swipe, wring, swipe, dip into water. Wring again, swipe.

  By the time the lobby clears out, only two hours have passed. My shirt is dirty, covered in espresso-bean dust, and my shoes are still damp from the green-tea spillage. On the bright side, we haven’t had a customer in close to ten minutes, and Aiden has that look on his face that tells me he’s going to start whining soon.

  “I’m superhungry and I need to read some lines for an audition,” he says, right on cue. His shoulders are slouched, and his white shirt is stained with brown streaks. We both look like we’ve been through the Great Battle of Caffeine and lived to tell the tale. Nora would be the queen we’re fighting for, one of us getting to take the crown and be her king.

  Before my imagination can carry me to a land far, far away, Aiden takes another step toward me and waves his hand. “So, I’m gonna take a break, ’kay?”

  “Sure.” I glance to Nora and nod. “That’s fine with me—we’re empty out here anyway.”

  I need to sweep the trash from the floor and wipe coffee rings and muffin crumbs off the tables. I need to fill up the ice bin and wipe off the countertops. The list goes on and on.

  Nora gets up from the table and runs her fingers through her hair. I grab a rag and walk out from behind the bar.

  “He’s nice, huh?” Nora points her thumb to the back room, toward Aiden.

  “He’s okay.” I shrug, not wanting Aiden to hear us talking about him. He’s obnoxious, but I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings or anything. I know how
it feels to have people talk about you as if you aren’t listening, and it sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Well, maybe a few people, but Aiden isn’t one of them.

  “He reminds me of King Joffrey.” Nora laughs, covering her mouth.

  “Who’s that?”

  Nora’s eyes widen. “King Joffrey, the little blond twat.”

  Huh?

  “You really don’t know who I’m talking about, do you?” She’s staring at me in disbelief.

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve never watched Game of Thrones?”

  “Oh. No, not yet.”

  “No way!” Nora rushes toward me, grabbing hold of my wrists. She smells like coconut. “Please tell me you’re joking. I had you pegged soooo wrong. Which rock do you live under, and how do you stay away from spoilers online?”

  The college and job rocks, I want to say. But that would be rude . . . and also lame.

  “I haven’t had time yet. I plan on watching it. Everyone talks about it, but I don’t have the right online accounts.” I sound like a robot.

  I do have that one Facebook page that I always forget the password to and have to reset. I have about ten Facebook friends, half of them my family. My mom’s Facebook page is full of baby updates and belly pictures, and Tessa’s is full of Pinterest posts. My mom is obsessed with tagging me on stuff. Pictures, quotes, images of puppies. The last time I logged on to my account, she had posted pictures of us from her wedding and tagged me. Soon enough, all of my mom’s friends were commenting things like:

  “I remember pinching those cheeks when he was just a baby!”

  “Little Landon has grown up to be such a handsome young man!!!”

  “When can you expect Landon to marry, Karen?”

  To that last one, my mom responded, “When him and Dakota finish college!”

  Things were so different last year. Even a few months ago, my life was completely different from the way it is now. I was supposed to be living with Dakota by now, starting our future together.