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CHAPTER THREE

ELLIOT

T he sun is barely up when I unlock the front door of the brownstone, coffee and cinnamon roll in one hand while swiping sweat off my forehead with the other after my early morning run.

It’s the best part of any day.

Running in the dim morning light through a city just waking up to greet the day, the only sound is my running shoes pounding the pavement.

Stopping at the coffee shop on the corner where my favorite barista always has my order ready.

All four seasons, rain or snow, freezing temperatures or sweltering heat, the five-mile Back Bay loop is where you’ll find me as the sun rises.

I’m a creature of habit, and this is my favorite habit of all.

Running started as a way to calm my brain when the darkness felt like it was hovering just a little too close, and now it’s the thing I can’t live without.

Jogging up the steps to my third-floor apartment, I stop on the landing to the second floor as the door to Jordan and Jo’s apartment flies open and Jo comes barreling out, almost slamming right into me. I grab her arm just as she trips over nothing and stumbles forward.

“Shit,” she gasps, huffing out a laugh and shoving hair out of her eyes. “Sorry, El.”

“Where’s the fire, Jo Jo? It’s barely six in the morning.”

“Seven a.m. train to New York. There’s a trustee meeting at the museum that my boss from the summer wants me to be at.

She says no one can convince them to fund my programs for another year like I can and, well, she’s right.

” Jo grins and shrugs. She’s a museum consultant, helping museums all over the country establish kids’ programming.

She spent last summer working at the Museum of Natural History in New York, and the programs she set up gained national attention, which catapulted her new business into the stratosphere.

“That’s badass, Jo. You staying overnight?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, the meeting is at noon and should be done by three. I’m hoping to catch the five o’clock train back.”

“You don’t want to hang in New York for a few extra hours? You love it there.”

“Oh, I do, but Jordan’s on call so he couldn’t come with me, and New York doesn’t feel as fun anymore without him. It’s kind of our place, you know?”

I smile at the affection in her voice for my brother. I love Jo because she’s amazing, but I love her even more because of how much she loves Jordan, and how game she was to come to Boston and start a life with him here. “It’s nice you guys have that.” I give her a once-over. “Uh, Jo?”

She looks up from where she’s rummaging in her bag for something. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you might want a coat? It’s, like, fifteen degrees outside.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, turning around to push open her apartment door, ducking inside and pulling a coat out of the closet by the door.

“I hate anything before ten, so a seven a.m. train is basically my worst nightmare. Especially when Jordan’s at the hospital and can’t make coffee.

I suck at making coffee and never have enough time, so now I’m running late and am under-caffeinated.

I can’t kick ass and raise millions of dollars when I’m under-caffeinated. ”

I smile at her rambling. “Here,” I say, handing her my untouched coffee cup. “Just got this on the corner. I think you need it more than I do.”

“Bless you,” Jo breathes, taking a sip and giving a little sigh of relief. “I needed this so hard I’m not even going to feel bad that now you’ll be the under-caffeinated one.”

“Can’t send you off to New York to kick all that ass unprepared. I can make coffee upstairs. I still have a couple hours before I have to be at school.”

“Oh, yeah!” Jo brightens. “Start of a new semester. You ready? I always loved the start of a new semester in college. Fresh start, new classes, blank notebooks, new things to learn.” She shrugs, taking another sip of coffee. “Closet nerd alert.”

I chuckle. “Preaching to the choir, Jo Jo. I teach a lot of grad classes, so I already know most of my students, but there’s at least one starting mid-year, so I’ll have a new face or two. Anyway, didn’t you say something about a seven a.m. train?”

“Shit, yes!” she exclaims, hitching her bag up on her shoulder and bouncing a little on her pink Converse. “Gotta run. Have to convince a bunch of museum trustees to open their wallets.”

I lean in and kiss her cheek. “My money’s on you. Need a ride to the train station?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll grab a cab. You better go feed your dog or she’ll eat your plants again.” Then she grins widely. “I love that I know that. Living here with all of you is the best. It’s like the sorority house of my dreams.”

I didn’t exactly have live in the same brownstone with all three of my brothers and my oldest brother’s girlfriend on my things to do as an adult bingo card, but there’s something wildly comforting about living side-by-side with all the people I love most. And having Jo here has made it even better.

She’s a blast, and she makes Jordan happy, so it’s a win all around.

“Love having you here, Jo Jo. Go catch your train. Text me afterwards and tell me how you wrangled all the money out of those old guys to teach more kids science.”

“You got it. Jordan and I are doing a late-night disaster movie night with candy popcorn when I get back. You want in? Noah’s on call, but Cooper is coming and lobbied hard for Independence Day .

I was on the fence because I’m not sure an alien invasion counts as a disaster, but he’s been in a mood lately because of that new associate at his firm making his life hell, so I’ll allow it. ”

I grin, knowing how seriously Jo takes disaster movie night. “Sounds perfect. I’ll make brownies.”

“The kind with chocolate chip cookie dough on the bottom and Oreos on top?” Jo asks hopefully.

“Slutty brownies?”

She cackles. “Is that what they’re called?”

“Yep, found the recipe online years ago. They’re my specialty.”

“Well, this is my formal request for the slutty brownies for movie night.”

“Anything for you. Here.” I hand her the paper bag. “Cinnamon roll for your trip. Get all sugared up with your caffeine and you’ll forget the sun isn’t up yet.”

Jo opens the bag and peers in. “Fuck yes, I love cinnamon.”

“I know. Go. Catch a train. See you later.”

“Later, El,” she calls, heading down the stairs. “Happy first day of school!”

Smiling, because a run and a conversation with Jo is an excellent way to start the morning, even if I am out coffee and a cinnamon roll, I head upstairs.

Walking up the final flight, I open the door to my apartment.

We may all have separate units, but we never lock the doors.

Since it’s just us and the one empty unit and the exterior door locks, we never really saw the need.

The second I open the door, a tiny ball of fur comes skidding into the entryway, tumbling to a stop at my feet, a green leaf hanging out of her mouth.

“Killer,” I groan, bending down and scooping her up, holding her so she’s eye-level with me. “We’ve talked about this. We don’t eat the plants.”

She tilts her head to the side, her tongue lolling out and the leaf dropping to the floor. She looks so ridiculous I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, little menace, let’s go check out the damage.”

I set her down and study the living room window seat where I keep all my plants. It’s not so bad this time, just a torn leaf off of Barbara—as in Walters. Yes, I did name all my plants after famous people born in Boston. Why do you ask?

Killer zooms around me, bouncing up on her hind legs and setting her front paws on my knee, bumping her head against my leg.

I drop my hand and pat her head. “You got lucky this time. Keep those teeth off the leaves.” She lets out an excitable bark and drops down, spinning in circles.

I chuckle, watching her tiny body race around.

She’s a ridiculous dog, and I love the shit out of her.

After filling up Killer’s food dish and setting up the coffee machine and flicking it on, I head back to my room to take a quick shower.

Dressed in the dark wash jeans and button down that serves as my teaching uniform, I pour a cup of coffee, dump Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl—an inferior but still satisfactory substitute for the cinnamon roll I didn’t get to eat—and settle down at my kitchen island, tablet in hand, to do the thing that has become a part of my morning routine every day for the past six months.

Opening a browser, I navigate to the Boston property records website I have bookmarked and type in her name.

Amelia . Just Amelia. No last name. No other identifying details.

After six months, I know it’s an exercise in futility.

She could be a renter. She could live with someone else who owns the property.

She could live outside of Boston proper.

I’m scientist enough to know the number of variables is infinite.

Not to mention the fact that searching for someone in a city of more than half a million people with only a first name is a ridiculous thing to do.

Searching for a woman I spent a grand total of six hours with on an airplane more than half a year ago is borderline insanity.

But there’s the minor detail of my inability to get her out of my head.

Her gold and green flecked brown eyes haunt me.

I hear her raspy voice in my dreams and wake up hard and wanting.

The sound of her laugh flits through my head, and I think I would do almost anything in the world to hear it again.

It’s giving full blown creepy stalker.

I’ve dated. I’ve had girlfriends, one so serious I thought I might marry her until it all went sideways. But no one, not one single person, has ever had a hold on me the way my mystery girl from the plane does.