Chapter Twenty-Three

October 18

New York City

C lara slammed the door to her apartment and flopped onto her couch. A full day later, she was still fuming. Her Modern Masters seminar had been canceled, so she had nothing to distract her from the infuriating, humiliating encounter with Miles. Or whoever the hell that was in his apartment. Or they were. Jesus, the guy carried around a cast of characters like a Broadway road show. She muffled a frustrated growl between clenched teeth.

Regardless of her methods, Clara had asked Miles for something deeply personal. She had exposed a vulnerability, and he had all but laughed in her face—that insensitive, insufferable, unfeeling jerk.

To make matters worse, despite her rage and embarrassment, her mind couldn’t stop the highlight reel of the different sexual scenarios Miles had described. Did she want to get deflowered against a window with the neighbors watching? Yes. Did she want to experiment with toys? Did she want to be tied up? Did she want a man whispering vulgarities in her ear as he fucked her? Yes, yes, yes.

The fantasies didn’t numb the wound of his insult. The encounter forced the long-buried memory to the surface.

She had rehearsed for weeks. Clara knew Miles would wander out to the orchard to say hello and ask his usual questions about her schoolwork and travels. When the movie moment came, Clara gripped her blonde braid and jutted out a hip like she’d practiced.

“Miles?”

“Yes, Bluebird?

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No. And I promise you this: I never will.”

“What? Why?”

“Because love is the heel that will crush you.”

He didn’t say it with any particular malice — more a casual observation.

Undeterred, she continued, “I could fall in love with you.”

He reached out his big, strong hand and ran his thumb along her jawline. She welcomed his touch as if someone were brushing satin on her cheek.

“Don’t.”

Then, as if nothing had ever passed between them, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a small wrapped package.

“I saw this in the airport in New York. It reminded me of you. Happy Birthday, Bluebird.”

He didn’t even wait for her to open it.

Clara stood among the swirling autumn leaves, holding the gift, and watched as he strode away. Miles never paused, never looked back. She tore the paper away, foolishly imagining some romantic gesture. Clara stared down at the paperback book —1001 Practical Jokes— sank to the grass and cried.

In the corner, she spied the bag overflowing with gray boxer briefs she had stolen earlier, mitigating her anger only slightly.

Clara snatched up the tote bag and walked across the open living area to the windows along the front wall. She raised the nearest one and tossed a fistful of underwear. They fluttered down to the sidewalk, one pair landing on her front stoop, another dangling from a tree limb. As she cocked her arm to launch another bunch, her skin prickled. Stopping mid-throw, Clara scanned the street for the source of her unease. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Nevertheless, Clara abandoned her underwear ejection, grabbed a Pellegrino from the fridge, and returned to the couch. Staring at the now half-empty bag of boxer briefs, her mind returned to the man she was trying desperately to hate.

Her father, Reynard, had shared some of Miles’s troubled childhood. Clara knew Miles’s parents had died tragically within months of each other—his mother from a brain tumor, his father in a car accident. She also knew that at some point after that, the twins had been separated, and Miles had been put in a bad situation. Then, there was the house fire that killed his adoptive parents. Her mind drifted to the shoebox she had found in Miles’s dresser. She decided to put the thought out of her mind. Clara knew she would never mention it to Miles, so there was no point in pondering the meaning of the items in the battered box in his drawer.

Instead, she decided to focus on something she could control. Payback. Miles was arrogant and cold, but one thing did seem to get a reaction—Clara’s dating life. She didn’t know why Miles was out to destroy her happiness. When Clara played pranks, her aim had only ever been to inconvenience and amuse him. Her father had asked Miles to watch out for her, but he was taking the request too far. He seemed to want to ruin any chance she had for love.

Well, maybe it was time for his little power trip to backfire.

Clara pulled her phone from her purse and opened the dating app, quickly retrieving the saved profiles.

“Okay, boys. Let’s see who’s game.”

She started to tap out the message when a noise at her front door drew her attention. Generally, at this time of day, she would be in class. Clara glanced up to see the latch of the deadbolt rotating.

“Tasha?” she called her neighbor’s name.

The rattling stopped.

She tiptoed over and checked the peephole. With the safety chain latched, she cracked open the door and looked out at the empty hallway. At her feet was a tacky, Halloween-themed flower arrangement—orange roses and sunflowers tucked among dancing skeletons and mini plastic pumpkins. Puzzled and amused, Clara retrieved the gift and set it on the kitchen island. She plucked the small envelope from the bunch and withdrew the card—then stopped breathing.

No words were written; it was simply a pen and ink drawing.

It was of a lynx.