Nora opened the bottom drawer of her desk and brought out two shot glasses and placed them next to the bottle.

“How much Catholics and Scousers have in common.”

Zach stared at her across her desk and suddenly found himself doing something he hadn’t done in a very long time—he laughed loudly and freely and it felt so foreign and wonderful that if he’d been braver, he might have kissed Nora right then and there.

Standing, Zach reached for the bottle. But Nora beat him to it. She held it in her hand and gave him the most dangerous smile he’d ever seen.

“Zach…let’s play a game.”

It took five minutes before Zach regretted coming to Nora’s.

“Truth or drink?” Zach asked as he shed his coat. “You will recall I’m in my forties.”

“There’s no age limit on alcohol-induced stupidity,” Nora countered. “And this is an easy game. I ask a question and either you answer it or you take a shot. Same rules for me. Whoever gets the drunkest loses, or wins, depending on your mood.”

“This game is hardly fair. You are far more forthcoming than any other person I’ve ever met.” Zach tossed his coat over the back of Nora’s armchair.

Nora leaned forward across her desk.

“Trust me, Easton. You’ve got secrets you want to keep. I’ve got secrets I have to keep. I think we’re pretty evenly matched here.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Let’s find out then.”

“Game on,” Nora said. “You go first.”

Zach knew his first question immediately. “I’ll ask you the question you didn’t answer today—who is, excuse me, was Ellie?”

“Ellie was me once upon a time. My mother and friends always called me Elle or Ellie. Søren, being rather formal, calls me Eleanor. I was born Eleanor Schreiber.”

“A German Catholic then. This poor Jew is even more intimidated. So Nora Sutherlin is your pen name?”

“It’s the name I work under, yes,” she said, and Zach thought he saw a shadow of one of her secrets cross her face. “But that’s two questions. My turn—why did your wife leave you? Or was it you who left her?”

Zach leaned forward, poured his whiskey and took a shot. He swallowed a cough as the liquor burned his throat and stomach all the way down. He hadn’t done any hard drinking in a long time. He was afraid if he started he would never stop. Here with Nora he still felt as if he was at a funeral but now at least it was a jazz funeral.

“Fair enough,” Nora said. “Your turn.”

“On the subject of our respective exes, why did you leave your mysterious and formal Søren?”

Nora seemed to think about it. She reached forward, poured her shot and downed it.