studying my features with intense curiosity, like she’d never seen them before, though it was true in a sense. I was the technician. When she was in my chair, the focus was her, not me.
The best defense is a good offense, my mother said each time she had to renegotiate her bakery lease. Her strategy usually involved threatening to move, and although fighting fire with fire didn’t work in the art world, I was daunted enough by Nina’s behavior to try it now.
I studied her right back, from the dark green eyes that had only smidgeons of eyeliner and mascara, and the faint splotches that weren’t quite covered by the makeup she’d cursorily applied, to the large claw clip that held back her thick hair. Capping the casual look, she wore a short parka, yoga pants, and sneakers.
My tit-for-tat didn’t seem to register as she continued to puzzle over my eyes and hair, and I had the sudden thought that she was comparing them to something else she had seen.
Like the picture of another woman.
No. Not People, I realized with a shock. Not The Devon Times. Hell, not even Google.
The Boston Globe.
I held steady. Coincidence, I told myself. Guilty conscience, I told myself. There was still a chance I was wrong. When she ducked her head to peer under my bangs, though, I knew I was not.
“Mackenzie Cooper,” she breathed, a question but not.
I didn’t answer. Didn’t dare.
“I had no idea, none. I’m so sorry,” she said with true feeling, and when I didn’t react, added, “About your daughter.”
At least her priorities were right. But this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. It wasn’t one I was prepared for, though I should have been. I should have known it would occur one day. But what kind of person assumed nightmares came true and had an actual, viable plan of attack?
Actually, most people would. I hadn’t, because even though my mind had known it might happen, my heart denied it. Even with Edward’s coming and my heightened fear of exposure, I hadn’t thought far enough to know how to react.
So I focused on breathing. I didn’t want to make it obvious; the tightness in my chest was only starting.
“I remember when you first got here,” Nina went on in a voice that was kind enough. “It wasn’t so long after me, maybe two years, but those first few times we worked together, you were quieter. I can’t imagine what you went through, Maggie.” She paused. “Maggie? Mackenzie?”
As the question hung, I wanted to curse Edward for coming to town and curse Jack Quillmer for interviewing him. I wanted to curse Nina for nosing around online, but it was done. And yet—and yet I couldn’t quite get myself to acknowledge Mackenzie.
Nina seemed oblivious to my angst, clearly blinded by her own need to know. “If you and Ned are divorced, why is he here? Were you always in touch, even after you moved?”
Stay or run? I didn’t know which to do, but my feet didn’t move, so I was momentarily trapped. My chest wasn’t getting worse. But it wasn’t getting better. And now I felt a tremor deep in my gut. Wrapping my arms around my waist to hold things steady, I drew in a slow breath and, slowly, let it out.
“I go back to Cleveland to see my parents,” she went on, “and my sister comes here every so often, but you’ve never left for long or had anyone here to visit—ah, but your brother.” Her eyes widened in realization. “How did that come about?”
I felt no pressure to answer. She was doing just fine on her own.
“He showed up right around the time Ned did, and he’s going to be running a restaurant owned by the Inn group. That can’t be a coincidence.”
No shit, Sherlock, I thought.
“Was it all part of a plan—you come here first to get set up and make sure it was the right place?”
I was incredulous.
But she seemed oblivious to that, too. “Do you have other family—like, parents? I didn’t read about them being around.”
I took the deepest breath yet, closing my eyes for a second longer than a blink. My exhale sounded like a sigh. Nina wasn’t good with girlfriends. She had told me that, herself. But if she had an ounce of innate compassion, she would have shut up. Her questions were tedious. Actually, her questions were infuriating. She had to see that I didn’t want to talk, had to see that her