Page 83 of The Devil She Knows
Hannah ducked her head and swept a finger under her eye, catching a tear before it could fall. A pang of sympathy echoed inside Sam’s chest, but absent was the burning need to make Hannah feel better.
“I should probably go,” Hannah said, and Sam nodded.
“That would probably be best,” she agreed.
Hannah turned, picking her way carefully past bubble wrap and packing paper.
“Hey, Hannah?”
She paused and looked at Sam over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I hope you’re happy,” she said, meaning it. “Whatever happy looks like for you.”
Hannah smiled wanly. “You, too, Sam.”
18
SAM’S PHONE BUZZED beside her on the kitchen counter.
MILO IS APPROACHING WITH YOUR ORDER, the Door-Dash notification read. Less than a minute later, a knock sounded at the front door. Sam answered it and waited patiently while the Dasher dug through his insulated tote.
“Have a good one,” he said, passing her the small bag containing her breakfast burrito.
“Thanks.” Her eyes snagged on the crumpled-up grease-stained paper bag resting at his feet. Sam squinted at the script stamped on the kraft paper. “Hold on, sorry, does that bag sayAntoine’son it?”
The Dasher zipped his bag shut and shrugged. “Dunno. Found it in the elevator. You got trash on this floor?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, oddly unnerved. “There’s a chute at the end of the hall.”
It was strange, this sense of almost déjà vu that kept sneaking up on her. First with Hannah and Coco and thenlater last night, when she had been flipping channels. She’d stumbled across an old episode ofHell’s Kitchenand gotten the eeriest feeling that she was forgetting something. Something big. Something important. Something she was supposed to remember.
If she could just put her finger on it …
It was stress. That had to be it. She could google it, but then WebMD would probably convince her she had a brain tumor, and she didn’t need to heap any medical anxiety onto her already full plate. No, it was definitely stress.
She wished the Dasher a good day and shut the door, locking it behind her.
Sam had just taken her first bite of her spicy chorizo breakfast burrito when her phone buzzed for the second time this morning, this time with a text.
Melissa (9:12 a.m.):
Jimmy said he’s free tomorrow at two. Does that work for you?
