Miras - Nora Roberts Now

Mira’s throat went tight. “You believe me?”

“You’re a superstitious old crone in a young woman’s body,” her best friend, Liza, teased, dangling a pair of silver-backed hairbrushes in front of her. “Come on. These are gorgeous.”

“Need a hand?” she called, grabbing her umbrella.

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?” Miras - Nora Roberts

“I need you to look at something,” she said, and opened the locket.

“Both,” she said, surprising herself. “Neither. Depends on the day.”

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. Mira’s throat went tight

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.”

The first time it happened, she was seven. She’d toddled into her grandmother’s dusty attic, drawn by the scent of lavender and old paper. A full-length mirror stood in the corner, its silver backing tarnished into swirling constellations. When she looked into it, her own reflection smiled back. But behind that reflection, like a ghost in a photograph, stood a boy in a blue coat. He was crying. And Mira felt the cold knot of his fear settle in her own belly.

No hand mirrors with pearl handles. No gilded trifold vanities. No cracked bathroom medicine cabinets. If it reflected a face, she wouldn’t touch it. These are gorgeous

“She didn’t disappear,” Mira said softly, understanding blooming like a dark flower. “She was hidden. And she’s been waiting a very long time for someone who could see.”

Mira had always hated mirrors.

Mira looked from his face to the locket, then to the rain-streaked window behind him. In the glass, just for an instant, she saw a reflection that wasn’t hers. A woman in a green dress, standing in a doorway, one hand pressed to her heart. And she was smiling.