“My neighbor found them,” Will said. “The one from the third floor.”

“Oh, right. What was her name? Esther?”

“Eleanora,” Will said, and did not rub his chest. “She goes by Nora.”

“She’s the one that’s been giving you trouble?” Sally peeked into the closet, obviously checking out its size. It wasn’t like he’d been able to explain to her over text what a potato casserole or a poetry reading had to do with anything, so mostly he’d stuck to giving her bland, uncomplicated updates about getting “pushback” from the building residents.

“Not so much the last few days,” he said, trying not to wince as Sally gently unfurled her T-shirt to let the kittens onto the recently purchased comforter. “I think I got some goodwill, having the kittens around. Lots of the neighbors came by.”

Not Nora, though.

“Humanized you, probably!” said Sally, cheerfully. “Who hates a man who rescues kittens? No one, that’s who.”

“I didn’t rescue them,” he began, but Sally had become distracted, moving toward the picture window with her brow lowered. Will had hung up those room-darkening curtains only the day before. He’d read that those were good, and when they were pushed to the side like they were now they still let a lot of light in, but maybe he’d made the wrong call there. Or maybe she was noticing some of the claw-related damage caused by Quincy (What! Was! He! Saying!) climbing up one this morning, hanging on to it with all his tiny legs spread, a deranged look in his eyes.

“Hmm,” Sally said, so she’d definitely noticed the damage. Well, who cared? Certainly short-term renters wouldn’t. But then he realized Sally wasn’t looking at the curtains.

She was looking right out the window.

“You said goodwill, huh?” she said, the lowered brow now rising with curiosity.

Will had a sudden, not-entirely-sinking feeling about why Nora Clarke hadn’t come around. It was a feeling more like . . . relief?

More like anticipation.

He didn’t take a step toward the window, and deep down he knew it was because he didn’t want to be disappointed if it didn’t turn out to be her after all.

“What’s she done now?” he asked, hoping it didn’t sound hopeful.

“I hate to tell you, Will,” Sally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I think she’s gone and called the press on you.”

Sally had overstated it.

But not by much.

When Will got outside, a short, dark-haired woman with a handheld voice recorder and small microphone was standing next to a guy with a high-quality camera, and every tenant in this building—with the exception of Nora—was gathered around, seeming like they were waiting their turn to speak.

Damn, Will thought.

“Don’t worry,” said Sally, from behind him. “I brought Quincy and Francis!”