All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

“Unfortunately, pretending has never been a strength of mine,” Silas said, lowering himself further and resting an elbow on my open windowsill. “But I do have an alternative option for you.”

My eyes flittered to his for all of one second, followed by an electric current that shocked my nervous system.

“You could come inside and join us for D&D—dessert and discussion hour. Diego baked oatmeal cookies.” Silas seemed to consider something more. “Wren’s inside, too, and I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing you tonight. She’s had a hard day.”

My full attention snapped to his face. “Why, what happened to her?”

“I’d rather Wren talk to you about it herself, in her own words. That is, if you’re willing to stay awhile longer.”

I knew exactly what he was doing. Wren was quite possibly the only hook he had to lure me into the house at this point, knowing my lonely fry binge had just been viewed by Lord only knew how many people. Yet I couldn’t say no. If something was wrong with Wren, then I wanted to know about it.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He shrugged, and I sighed. “Fine, I’ll go park.”

Silas reached a few more inches into my car, set his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Great. Thank you.”

We didn’t talk as Silas escorted me from the parking lot to the fireside room at the end of the east corridor. My silence was a conscious decision on my part, as there were too many jumbled thoughts rolling around my head to filter them into words. Yet I was fully aware that Silas was drawing his own unvoiced conclusions about my reserved mood by the way he eyed me at every turn.

A few paces out from the room, Silas touched my arm. “One word of advice—coffee helps the cookies go down easier.”

“Diego’s cookies?”

“Yes. Let’s just say he’s not our most skilled baker in residence. But it was his turn on rotation, and Glo never misses an opportunity to instruct one-on-one in the kitchen when she can. D&D is her baby.”

“Is it also mandatory—for the residents?”

“No.” He smiled. “Technically, only Tuesday night classes are mandatory, though mentor time on Fridays is highly encouraged. We find that most of our young adults work to arrange their schedules to be here each D&D. It’s often the highlight of their weeknights.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “Okay.”

“Molly,” he said, with a brief touch to my back as we entered the room together, “I’m glad you’re here for this tonight.”

Thankfully, Glo was waiting on the other side of the open door, pulling me straight into an unexpected embrace that allowed me to hide the rush of emotion Silas’s gentle words had provoked.

Glo rubbed my back and spoke directly into my ear. “I was sure hoping you’d decide to come inside, Kitten Heels. These are always good nights to stop in for a visit. We’ll be starting things up in just a few. Oh, and sit wherever you want. We’re casual around here.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to the room as a wave of insecurity washed over me at the sight of happy faces gathered together in clusters of four or five.

Though Silas had pointed this room out to me during the official tour, I hadn’t stepped inside it until now. And without a doubt, it was my new favorite space at Fir Crest Manor.

The room was oriented around a tiny platform next to a retired corner bar, where several residents swiveled on stools, sharing a laugh as they mixed hot chocolate packets into actual mugs, not disposable foam cups. A nice touch, presumably by Glo.

I scanned the unlit fireplace hearth, where to the left several girls from my mentor group sat on pillows, chatting near the built-in cabinetry stocked with board games and puzzles. A few waved at me and smiled, and I returned the gesture, although one of them gave me a look that couldn’t be classified as anything but dismissive. Sasha, the tall, too-thin girl with wispy, faded pink hair who wore eyeliner as thick as a black Sharpie, had an obvious dislike for me. It seemed whatever I had to offer her peers in the program held little to no interest where she was concerned. I needed to ask Clara what was up with her. I never saw Sasha speak to anybody but Monica. Those two always seemed connected at the hip.

The random pockets of seating around the room mimicked a downtown coffee shop. Cozy chairs, sofas, love seats, and tables of all sizes filled the space. Two mismatched round tables near the center of the room had been pushed together for a game of Yahtzee, where Devon kept score on the back of a paper plate. Silas had just pulled up a chair to join them, catching my eye and tipping his head toward the back corner of the room.

It took me all of two seconds to understand why. Wren’s unmistakable Celtic hair, plaited in a double Dutch braid, spilled behind the wingback chair she sat in. She sat alone, focused on a picture on a phone screen.

Armed with no plan and no real experience in the area of comforting another human being, I made my way toward her. As quietly as I could, I sat beside her on the edge of the sofa and glanced at the image she’d been staring at for quite some time.

“Hey, Wren. How are you?”

Startled, she dropped the phone to her lap. A fairly obvious indication that I’d already failed the empathy test straight out of the gate.

“Hey . . . I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

That made two of us. “Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”

She nodded. “Oh, sure.”

I tapped my thigh as if I were typing an SOS message for immediate rescue. “Did you go to school today?”

I’d learned from Clara that Wren had just been accepted into a two-year program to become a physician’s assistant after she finished her