Page 3 of One Small Secret

“What the—?” I bend down and rip one of my sharp-heeled shoes from my foot. It's in my hands faster than I thought possible and instead of backing out of the door and calling 911, I’m charging toward my intruder.

“Cadence!” She calls out, waving her hands in front of her face.

I squint my eyes. The last time I saw my stepsister, her hair was purple and she wore severe dark eyeliner, but the turn of her nose and the smattering of freckles on her skin is unmistakable. “Moira?”

Moira bites her lip and takes a few careful steps toward me. “Hey, Cadence. I heard you were back in town.” She puts both hands up in a surrender pose. “Please don’t stab me with your very scary looking shoe.”

“But…” I take a moment to catch my breath, look at the shoe in my hand still poised threateningly above my head. Geez—what was I going to do with that? What if the person in my apartment had a gun? It’s not like anything in here is worth dying for, or even getting much more than a scratch over. I’ve got to retrain my instincts. I drop my shoe and kick the other one off. “How did you get in?”

“Your mom is meeting me here later, so she gave me the address. Sorry I got here before you. I didn’t realize you’d be working so late. Luckily for me, you still use good old 9653.” She smirks slightly, and I narrow my eyes at her. It felt a bit too soon after being held at shoe point for her to be making fun of my high school passcode.

“So…” Where do we go from here? Moira and I barely know each other anymore. Our parents' marriage was a strange blip in my otherwise pretty idyllic high school years. “How long have you been in town?”

“Oh.” Moira brushes some of her nearly black hair out of her eyes. It’s styled in an edgy wolf cut framing her face. “I’m just passing through. But I wanted to see you and Ruth.”

I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen Moira since our parents’ divorce. Heck, even the year we lived together under one roof I rarely saw her. Why did she want to see me and mom now? “Do you want a drink or anything? I have water or there might be some juice in the fridge.”

“There isn’t,” Moira answers. “But I’m fine.”

She’d been rummaging through my fridge? Typical. But she needs to eat—I can see it in the hollows under her eyes. They aren’t as deep as the last time I saw her, but I would never begrudge Moira food. Her year with us was probably her only stable home environment in, like, forever.

“Dinner?” I ask, and she shakes her head no. “Are you sure? I’m making it anyway.”

“No, really, I need to see your mom. But I wanted to see you first.”

I walk to the fridge and pull it open. I have eggs and toast or…toast and eggs. Moira isn’t missing out on much. I pull out the eggs and Moira sits at one of the four dining chairs. “How’s life treating you lately, Cadence? Are you still chasing Ruben Palmer?”

I squeeze the egg in my hand. If it weren’t for that one principle I vaguely remember learning about in physics, I'd be standing here with egg running between my fingers. I loosen my grip and try to calmly crack it on the counter. The egg smashes pretty much in half, but I manage to salvage most of it and drop it in the pan. “I am not, nor have I ever, chased Ruben Palmer. He has pretty much half of the women on earth in love with him, and I’m not adding my name to that list. He dated Alyssa Fourtuna when he was twenty-two. Alyssa Fourtuna. The lingerie model.” I say it like there’s a chance Moira doesn’t know who I’m talking about.

Moira laughs deep in her throat. “I didn’t mean chasing after him that way. You aren’t stupid. And Alyssa Fourtuna is much more than just a lingerie model. She’s a fashion icon. I meant career-wise. Do you still want to be more indispensable to the Palmer Hotel empire than he is?”

I smile, and I get the distinct feeling it may look the tiniest bit evil. Ruben isn’t a terrible person, and it’s not like I want actual harm to come to him. Most of our lives we’d been thick as thieves. First, because our families were so close. Later in high school we were always in the same group of friends, hanging out at his grandfather Ben’s house all the time. I don’t know if it’s the fact that his family was put on the map while mine continued growing apples, but I’ve always liked beating him. After he sent me off to Vietnam without so much as a goodbye, beating him now would be that much sweeter. Moira smiles back at me, so I don’t think she minds my twisted line of thinking. “Oh. Yeah. I actually do want that.”

“It shouldn’t be hard. All the man does is run around the country partying with models. When would he have time to actually work for the company? And his grandpa has a soft spot for you.”

Is Moira the only other woman in the world who isn’t blinded by Ruben’s gloriousness? Why has she been hiding away for so many years? I could use a commiseration buddy where he’s concerned. I try to be discreet as I glance at her eyes again. They don’t seem bloodshot. She looks tired, but in a natural way, not like she's about to crash after using. “If he has such a soft spot for me, why didn’t he stop Ruben from sending me to Vietnam?”

Moira smirks. “Fair point, but you should thank him for that.” Moira’s eyes get a far-off look. She’d always wanted to travel and make a name for herself in modeling or acting. I’m the one who wanted to stay in Rosco. Mom offered to let her finish high school here after her marriage with Garff fell apart, but Moira wanted to move on to the next place. And Garff wasn’t about to be left alone after his third failed marriage. Moira leans forward in her chair. “What was it like?”

“In the big cities? Crowded.” But the part of the country I spent most of my time in was different. Da Lat has its own culture built around beautiful hills, pine trees, and a train that only travels two stops. They even have cowboys. Dalat Cowboys. I smile. It was a sensational location. As always, Ben knew exactly what he was doing. And Tuyen Lake? Breathtaking. As much as I wanted to come home, I loved my time there.

“But not crowded by the resort?” Moira asks.

“No, not by the resort.” That was the Palmers’ way. Find hidden gems of breathtaking beauty and make them accessible to anyone with a few million dollars in the bank. Most of the locals in Rosco hated Ben for it. But I couldn’t. Ben never forgot that it was only because of my grandfather buying Ben’s orchards that he was able to start Palmer Hotels. And I see the beauty in what Ben does. There is something brilliant about searching out the world's most beautiful places and bringing them to light. Even though people criticize him for making his hotels only accessible to those who can pay through the nose to stay there, the exclusivity means keeping those nearly untouched places from becoming overrun.

“Well, I’m glad you're back. Sorry I broke in.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring my pepper spray with me today. I didn’t think I’d need it in Rosco.”

Moira snorts. “Why would you need pepper spray when you have those fantastic heels?”

I laugh softly. “Next time, I’m shutting the door and calling 911. Or maybe you could give me a heads up.”

“Sorry. It was cold outside, and I didn’t have your number.”

Mom had my number, but consideration of other people had never been Moira’s strong suit. Her eyes flicker to my bedroom as if she's curious about the rest of the apartment.

“Would you like a tour?”

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