Sara Michaels
The café on 7th was exactly the way I remembered it...warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling, soft jazz playing low enough that you could still hear the clink of cups and quiet laughter from other tables.
Ruby was already there when I walked in, waving from a corner booth with that big, bright smile she always had, like nothing in the world could dim it. I slid into the seat across from her, still wearing Kingsley’s jacket because I hadn’t wanted to take it off yet, and the moment I sat down she reached over and squeezed my hand.
“God, you look tired, babe,” she said, eyes soft but honest. “But still gorgeous. How are you holding up?”
I forced a small smile. “I’m… surviving. Barely. How about you? You said you’re moving back?”
She leaned forward, elbows on the tabl
