Read Snowflakes & Fire Escapes for Free Online Page B

present company … it’s hot and all I want to do is stay cool.
    Opening my bedroom door, the first thing I hear is noise in the kitchen, before the scent of food hits me like a freight train. My stomach instantly starts growling in response. Above that smell is something else, something I haven’t smelled in a while. Coffee . Curious, I make my way that direction, pausing momentarily in the living room when I nearly trip over an air conditioner lying on the floor. It’s one of those little window units, big enough to maybe cool half a room in this place.
    I step around it, heading for the kitchen, spotting Holden standing in front of the stove, wielding a spatula. He’s dressed, still looking composed even when going without a tie, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s not wearing his badge, probably because he’s not supposed to around me.
    We have this façade to maintain.
    Cover stories are a bitch.
    They drilled mine into me before I relocated here … Grace Kennedy, hailing from upstate New York, no relation to the actual Kennedy family if anyone got too nosey. I live with my uncle, who works in international trade, so he’s gone more than he is at home. They even trained me to call him ‘Uncle Holden’, but it creeps me out to think of him like that. It’s a simple story to pull off, not hard to remember, but I always feel like people can tell I’m bullshitting whenever I speak.
    Holden, on the other hand, effortlessly lies. It’s sort of awe-inspiring.
    He’d make a good actor.
    Or maybe one hell of a conman.
    “Good morning, Grace,” he says as he turns to face me, his voice coated with a phony New York accent that he somehow manages to make sound authentic. “I hope you’re hungry.”
    I stare at him with confusion, wondering why he’s speaking that way. He raises his eyebrows, subtly nodding toward the open window across the room. Glancing that way, I see a figure out in the yard, the hood up on my old car as a man tinkers with it. It’s the same guy from yesterday, the tow truck driver who picked me up along the highway. The sight of him ties my stomach in knots. In public, I work hard to pretend to be this Grace Kennedy, the girl I’m not, but I relish on getting to be just Gracie again within the privacy of these walls.
    As much of Gracie as I have left in me, anyway.
    “Sure,” I say. “Starving.”
    Holden smiles, knowing I’ve caught on, and waves toward the small kitchen table with the spatula. “Have a seat.”
    I head for the refrigerator instead, curious, and find it packed full—he went shopping without me. Shaking my head, I sit down, just as he sets a cup of coffee on the table. I think it’s meant for him but I snatch it for myself anyway, picking it up to blow in it. “You don’t have any Bailey’s to go in this, do you?”
    He shoots me a look that tells me I’m out of my mind. Shrugging, I take a sip of the coffee and grimace, knowing he bought that generic bitter shit even I can barely stomach.
    I watch in silence as he makes up a big plate of food and slaps it down on the table in front of me. He joins me with his own plate after a moment, as well as another cup of coffee, immediately diving into the food, while I just stare at mine. Holden’s game is strong this morning. I’m almost impressed. He tried to replicate the traditional Irish breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, and beans. While I appreciate the effort—really, I do—he should most definitely keep his day job. The bacon’s not crispy, the hashbrowns are soggy, the eggs dried up and the beans … dear God, the beans came straight out of a Campbell’s can.
    I can sense him watching me as he devours his breakfast. I take a few bites to alleviate his concerns, but it doesn’t seem to work. His expression slowly shifts, his worry again shining through.
    “Not good?” he asks quietly, dropping his voice low to ensure only I can hear as he lets the accent slip. “I can find you