Friday comes too fast and too slow simultaneously.
I spend the morning obsessing over what to wear. What do you wear to dinner with a seven-year-old and her father who you're maybe dating but definitely falling for despite every logical reason not to?
Maribel suggests the green dress. I veto it. Too formal. Too date-like. This is dinner with a child. Casual. Normal.
I settle on jeans and a soft sweater. The leather jacket. My own clothes, not things Julian bought.
At 6 PM, an hour before I'm supposed to be at Lucien's, my phone rings.
Unknown number. I almost don't answer.
"Hello?"
"Seraphina. It's Lucien." His voice is wrong. Tight. Strained.
My stomach drops. "What's wrong?"
"Can you meet me? Now? Before dinner. There's something I need to tell you."
"Okay. Where?"
"The coffee
