“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, her eyes coming back to him. “I mean . . . if you didn’t know him. Aren’t you curious why he left it to you?”

He shoved a grubby set of dish towels into the Toss box, keeping his head down. Curious wasn’t the right word. He was frustrated, full of resentment. Being curious about Donny felt like a concession, and he didn’t want to concede anything.

“Not really. And even if I were, he’s not here to answer my questions. Not much use dwelling on the past, I’ve always thought.”

She wrinkled her brow. “That’s going to be pretty impossible, for a while.”

“What’s that mean?”

She took a step forward, peered into the box Jonah had dropped off, then moved again, past the recliner and closer to where he stood, by the long kitchen counter that overlooked the living area. Her eyes ran over the space—the pots and pans he’d pulled from the cupboards below, the few stacks of dishes he’d managed to take down from the ones above.

“It means you’re surrounded by the past. His past, specifically.”

He swallowed, his neck heating. He thought of the haul-away companies, the cost of their most comprehensive packages. If he could’ve afforded it, he would have had them in here sorting through all this, leaving him well out of whatever was in Donny’s past. He didn’t want any part of it.

“I’ll move quickly,” he said gruffly, and then he looked up at her. “If you’ll let me.”

She turned her face from him, looking back over the living room, toward the door that led to the balcony. He liked it, seeing her profile—the slope of her nose, the angle of her jaw, but also the curve at the back of her neck, exposed to him thanks to that ponytail.

“I thought you might change your mind.”

Her voice was quiet, like she was telling him a secret. Like he was on that balcony again, waiting for her voice to filter down to him. The truth was, he was probably at great risk for changing his mind, if only she kept talking to him this exact way. If it was dark and they were alone. If Donny had nothing to do with it.

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she’d stripped the softness from her voice. Easier, he told himself. “After, you know. You met everyone. It’s real people here, in this building. It’s not an investment property.”

“Real people have investment properties. I’m a real person.”

She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re missing my point.”

“Am I? What’s your point, then, Nora?”