“And how is my sister from another mister?” Miranda’s voice rolled out of the car speakers, a welcome breath of the South that made Norah Burke ache with homesickness.
“Tired. It’s a long drive back from New York.”
“Why on earth didn’t you fly?”
“Because nobody’s invented a teleporter yet. Flying would take just as long, and I’d be one of a hundred other irritable sardines, who want to be home already. At least on the road it’s quiet.”
“You totally live in the wrong city for quiet. Are you home yet?”
“Got a couple more hours. But I’m about to break it up a bit and make a stop in your honor.”
“Off I-90? Oh my God, are you in Morton? You’re going to Have Your Cake, aren’t you?”
Norah laughed at the mix of accusation and longing in her friend’s tone. “Guilty.”
The stretch of road imme
