and this time I understood it had never been meant as romance. It had been meant as gratitude. As farewell. As something sacred.
My hand trembled so badly the bracelet rattled inside.
“Where does she live?”
“What?”
“Marta. Where does she live?”
“Olivia, please.”
“Write down the address, Nolan.”
He looked at me as though he wanted to argue, then reached for the notepad on the counter. The pen scratched against the paper, the only sound in the room.
I took the slip from his hand without looking at him.
