Chloe was already sitting at a corner booth, staring at her phone.

She looked nervous, her fingers tapping against the edge of the table.

Her phone lay screen-up next to her water glass.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my coat, and forced my face into an expression of quiet misery.

I pushed the door open, the brass bell ringing above my head.

Chloe looked up, her eyes locking onto mine.

I walked slowly toward the corner booth, letting my shoulders slump.

My wet umbrella dripped onto the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of dark spots behind me.

Chloe watched me approach, her hand hovering near her water glass.

Her face was pale, but she had styled her hair in the soft waves Lucas always liked.

“Anne,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Hi, Chloe,” I said, my voice cracking slightly on purpose.

I slid into the booth opposite her, letting my heavy damp coat drape over the back of the seat.

I kept my hands shaking just enough as I rested them on the edge of the table.