Bria nudges my shoulder. “Let’s do this, Donati.”
I take a breath. Then another. “Let’s do it, Donati.” I fire back at her.
And then, we step out.
The porch creaks under our weight as we step onto the wooden boards.
Bria whistles. “Cozy.”
I ignore her and lift my fist to knock.
Hesitate.
Then, three solid raps against the door.
The sound echoes, swallowed by the silence.
I glance at Bria. She raises a brow. “Maybe she’s dead.”
I smack her arm. “Jesus, Bria.”
“What? It happens.”
I groan. “You are the worst person to do this with.”
She grins. “And yet, here I am.”
Before I can respond, the door creaks open.
I freeze.
A woman stands in the doorway, older than I expected. Late fifties, maybe early sixties. Her gray-streaked hair is pulled into a loose bun, her blue eyes sharp as they flick between us.
She doesn’t speak.
Just… looks.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling very, very stupid.
“Uh, hi.” I swallow hard. “Are you Margo Finley?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Who’s asking?”
I tighten my grip on the paper in my hand. “My name is Magnolia.” My voice wavers. “Magnolia Rusco.” I use my maiden name now, not knowing what this woman knows.
The woman doesn’t react. Not at first.
Then, softer than I expect, “Magnolia Finley.”
My stomach plummets.
I feel Bria shift beside me, suddenly alert. “Okay, what the hell does that mean?”
The woman leans against the doorframe, expression unreadable. “Magnolia.” She studies me.
She sighs, rubbing her temple. “Shit.” She steps back and gestures inside. “Please, come in.”
Bria and I exchange a look.
