Page 48 of Tell Me Something True

“Great.” She pulled a sticky note from her purse, wrote her name, new address, and phone number on it then handed it to him with a smile. “I’ll see you at nine.”

She waved goodbye to Hayden, picked up the takeout box, and slid off the stool. Was halfway across the bar when she realized she was smiling. That she felt… not hopeful, exactly. More… optimistic. About her life. Her future.

It was a rare occurrence for her, that optimism.

And for most of her life, a fleeting one.

She used to think that was what made it so special. The impermanence of it.

But this time? This time, she was going to hold onto it.

For as long as she could.

Chapter 10

Eli: GODDAMNIT VERITY! STOP!! TEXTING!!! HIM!!!!

Curled up on Katarina’s couch, waiting for Ian to finish getting dressed, Verity Jennings read her first text message of the day and frowned.

Leave it to one of her brothers to ruin a perfectly lovely Sunday morning.

Seriously, she wouldn’t be surprised if they had a secret group chat, complete with a shared calendar, where the five of them divvied up the days of the week so they each had an equal turn trying to run her life.

Well, it wasn’t going to work. Not today, Satans.

Verity: Don’t all caps me. It’s rude.

Verity: And don’t use so many exclamation marks. Aggressive, much?

Tossing the phone aside, she got up and, rising onto her bare toes, stretched her arms over her head, then lowered to her heels. If she was going to deal with any of her brothers before nine a.m., she was going to need more coffee.

And possibly a pancake or two.

Verity padded into the kitchen, crossing to the single cup coffee maker next to the stove. Added a coffee pod, set a mug beneath it, then turned it on.

Kat’s apartment was the first floor of an old Victorian house on Chambers Street with original oak flooring throughout, a bright and sunny living room, a narrow, but functional galley kitchen with room for a two-person, bar-style table in front of a stained-glass window, two bedrooms, and a bathroom.

Sure, it could use some updating, but the green-tiled kitchen counters, dark blue toilet and tub/shower combination, fake wood wainscoting on the walls in the bedrooms and slight warp to the floors in each and every room, gave it a sort of nostalgic charm.

No matter that Urban—Verity’s eldest brother and owner of Mount Laurel’s best contracting company—said it was a dump.

Verity got out the ingredients for pancakes then went down the hall to Ian’s room.

Her seven-year-old nephew lay in the middle of his floor in a pair of Star Wars boxer-briefs and white socks, one of his Miles Morales graphic novels held in the air above his head, his lips moving as he read.

“Hey, bud,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “How’s that whole getting dressed thing going?”

He didn’t even look up from his book. “Good.”

“Well, listen, I’m not here to impede your progress or anything—”

“What does impede mean?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“Delay. Or get in the way of.”

“Oh.” He shrugged his bare, skinny shoulders and turned back to his book. “You’re not.”

“Great. I guess I’ll just leave you to it while I make us some pancakes—”

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