"Nope." I stop my fork halfway to my mouth. "Don’t look at me like that."
"It’s the cousin. Remember, I told you he ran into her at 1793 and then she beat him up." Sam laughs into his beer.
Olive follows suit, laughing to herself while widening her eyes at me. "Fixing her car seems like afriendlything to do, and while I know you two"—she points between me and Sam—"have a history of saving stranded women. Why would she think you stole it?"
My mouth is full of lo mein, but I mumble my response at her anyway. "Sha din know."
"Stop!" Olive’s hands fly to her face, covering her eyes. "She didn’t ask for help… you just did it? You’re a stranger, Max. You can’t just take people’s cars without telling them. Oh my God, Ari is going to die when I tell her."
Sam blows out a whirring breath. "Max, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong." My big brother assumes I just inserted myself—normally, I would. But in this case I was asked.
Holding my hands up in surrender, I pause before delivering my rebuttal. "I didn’t. I already told you that Howie asked me to. Did you really want me to deny him help? After all he’s done for you two?"
"Well, no. Of course not." Olive sips her fancy water. "How did she take it? Is that why you’re late?"
I push the empty lo mein container away from me, leaning back in my chair a little further. "Not great at first. But we talked it out. I think we’re friends now, which is good considering—"
"Considering what?" Sam places both hands on the table, his interest finally piqued.
I roll my lips in, deciding the best way to break the news to them. Obviously, everyone survived what happened last year—Olive’s probably better for it, to be honest. But that doesn’t mean that either of them likes to discuss Irina or her whereabouts. It’s sort of become one of those unspoken topics, and we all pretend it didn’t happen most of the time.
"How told me he thinks she’s cursed… like you were." I look at Olive, gauging her reaction before I continue. "Not by Irina, andnot with a tattoo. But I guess she has sisters, the ones that own 1793."
Olive’s face twists, and she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Did he say how she’s cursed? Did she ask for something, or what happened exactly?"
I shrug. "No, he didn’t have any hard evidence. Said something about a book she has, and when she wrote something, the color of the ink changed." I take the final glug of my drink. "I can’t really tell if he’s just being cautious, but she opened up to me tonight about some other stuff. I’m going to keep an eye on it, but it’s nothing either of you need to worry about."
I stand, grab my trash, and push my chair in. "I’m going to head out. But please keep that between us until I know more."
Olive nods, her face a mixture of confused and amused—like maybe she’s as curious as I am.
"Yeah, bro. We will. Be careful though, we don’t need you getting mixed up in anything like that." Sam’s declaration makes me laugh. He didn’t shy away from Olive when she had something similar going on. And we don’t even know if there’s anything real to this. Howie could just be being Howie. He’s naïve in a lot of ways—it’s not that far-fetched to think he’d jump to conclusions.
I toss my brother a nod, then leave. As I step up to my truck, my phone dings in my pocket.
Unknown
Hey, Friend…
It has to be from Sadie as she’s the only person whose number isn’t stored in my phone. Oh, and the message above it is the formalHelloshe sent herself earlier.
New phone, who dis?
I quickly store her number before she responds, adding all the descriptors I can think of.
Sadie/Smart/Witty/Maybe Cursed?
Max!
Weird, that’s my name too.
Sadie/Smart/Witty/Maybe Cursed?
That joke is old. You used it yesterday.
Fair. What’s up? Miss me already?
Sadie/Smart/Witty/Maybe Cursed?