Page 14 of The Restoration Program

Clearing her throat, Nicole folded her hands behind her back and smiled sheepishly. “Well, wedidhear them say I’m allowed to have alcohol, right?”

“Yeah, you asked about three times.”

“Did not!” She crossed her arms with a more genuine smile. “I dunno about you, but I could use a stiff drink.”

Ryan stood there with his hands on his hips, eyeing the crates with a wince. “Seems like that’s the one thing the Facility didn’t provide. You’d think they throw in some champagne or something. We’ll need to hit the grocery store.”

“How about you check the back of the cabinet next to the dishwasher?” she said. When he gave her an odd look, she made a shooing gesture. Although she was the one to send him off, she still gave a jump when he turned on his heel.

Sure enough, Ryan returned with a bottle of fine bourbon and a stunned look on his face. She chewed her lip, realizing the bottle was taller than her. The shiny green ribbon tied on top could wrap around her like a gown. She tried to picture the moment she had bought it—her hands had been able to wrap around the glass like nothing, and now—

“You got secret stashes all around the apartment?” Ryan asked.

“No,” she scoffed. “It was supposed to be a birthday gift.”

His teasing expression softened, and he took a step closer, inadvertently looking down at her. “Two months out?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I figured with all the moving and stuff, I didn’t want time to get away from me.”

“Thanks, Nicki,” he said. He glanced from the bourbon to her—she could see with disturbing clarity how his grip tightened on the neck of the bottle. He looked like he’d much rather be holdingher. He gave her a tight smile as he opened the bottle. “You don’t have to keep standing on that thing, you know.”

She was still rooted to the center of the tray. The moment she considered venturing onto the surface of the table, goosebumps pricked her arms. It was as though the tray contained her in an invisible force field—stepping past its bounds would cement the reality that she was a mere doll in her own apartment.

I can’t stay here forever, she reasoned.

While Ryan returned to the kitchen to grab glasses, Nicole forced herself to leave the tray. She instantly wanted to retreat, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Ryan trying to coax her closer like a frightened mouse.

Be proud of small steps. That was what one of the doctors had told her before she left the Facility. Nicole eyed the few inches she had put between her and the tray—the smallest steps she could possibly imagine.

Her wry smile wavered when Ryan returned holding a whiskey glass in one hand and a shot glass in the other.

She wasn’t about to ask him to rifle through the crates to find a NüPrint-sized glass for her, so she tried to appreciate that he had grabbed the smallest container he could find. Whether she liked it or not, everything—every minute detail of her life—was going to change.

There was no way she could finish the amount of bourbon he put in her shot glass. Even he seemed to realize that when he glanced between the drink and her.

Nicole mustered up a weak chuckle. “I can always count on you to be a generous pour.”

Something loosened in his posture when she lifted her eyes to him, like her smile permitted him to release the tension in his shoulders. She snapped out of her rigid stupor and took the offered shot glass from his fingers. It was practically a bucket.

“To second chances,” Ryan said, gingerly touching the lip of his glass to hers.

She took half a step back from the contact, but if Ryan noticed, he said nothing.

“To second chances,” she grunted, hefting the glass to her lips.

Ryan sighed. “Fuck, that’s smooth.”

Nicole answered with a wince at her sip. She forced it down with a painful swallow and threw an unappreciative look toward Ryan’s sympathetic chuckle.

“Hey, new body,” he said. “I guess you’re technically taking your very first drink.”

She cleared her throat indignantly. “I can take it. A little body transfer isn’t going to keep me from holding my liquor better than you.” She braced herself, lifted the shot glass again, and gulped at the bourbon. She pushed past the sting—if she could survive a life-ending car crash, she could survive a bucket of booze.

Except I didn’t survive.

“Nicki.” Ryan set down his glass, and she felt the faint vibrations of it through her shoes. “Slow down, babe.”

She drank faster. She drank until tears trickled down her cheeks. Through her bleary vision, she didn’t notice Ryan’s hand barreling toward her until it was a breath away. He plucked the shot glass out of her arms. The sharp movement sent her staggering back and coughing.