Dinner with Trevor should have steadied her. Instead, it only reminded her how thin her calm had become.
The restaurant they chose was small and crowded, hidden between a tea shop and a souvenir store in Toronto’s Chinatown. The smell of sesame oil and ginger filled the air, the chatter of diners rising and falling like waves. Brianna sat across from Trevor, her chopsticks idle beside her plate, watching the steam curl up from a bowl of wonton soup.
She had always liked order, timelines, lists, control, but nothing about that afternoon felt orderly. Seeing Jordan again had shaken something she thought she had long buried. It was a quiet tremor, not panic, but the slow unsettling of something deep inside her.
Trevor was halfway through his noodles when he said it. “You know, that guy ear
