It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
He smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the storm. “Mira. That’s a name that means ‘wonder’ or ‘look.’” He tilted his head. “Which is it for you?”
Caleb let out a slow breath. Then he took the locket from her hands, closed it, and pressed it into her palm. “Then let’s go find her,” he said. “Together.”
Now, at twenty-eight, Mira ran a small antique shop in the sleepy Vermont town of Havenwood. It wasn’t the life she’d planned—she had a degree in art history, a talent for restoration, and a fierce independence that scared off most men before the second date. But the shop, Yesterday’s News , was her anchor. And she curated it with a single, ironclad rule: No mirrors. Miras - Nora Roberts
It wasn’t vanity. She was, by most accounts, easy to look at—honey-colored hair that curled at the ends, eyes the deep green of a stormy sea, a smattering of freckles across a nose that turned up just slightly. No, the hate went deeper. It was the knowing she hated.
“Both,” she said, surprising herself. “Neither. Depends on the day.”
She smiled. The woman in the green dress smiled back. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her
“Inventory,” Mira said too quickly.
Instead, Caleb leaned forward. “So you’re a receiver. A sensitive.” He said it like it was a profession, like architect or plumber . “My grandmother was the same. She couldn’t wear rings. Said every gemstone screamed the story of every hand that had worn it.”
“Put them down,” Mira said, not looking up from the Chippendale desk she was polishing. “They have eyes.” That’s a name that means ‘wonder’ or ‘look
But the mirrors, of course, would not be ignored.
He turned. And Mira’s heart did a strange, stuttering thing. He was tall, built like a man who worked with his hands, with a sharp jaw and eyes the color of good bourbon—warm amber flecked with gold. But it wasn’t his looks that stole her breath. It was the absence.
“My mother gave me this,” the woman said softly. “She told me never to open it at night. I never knew why. But last week, I did. And I saw—I saw a room. A fire. A child screaming.” She looked at Mira with haunted eyes. “I can’t unsee it. Please. Take it.”