Evalyne realized she had started timing her life in coffees.
Cappuccino with a venture capitalist's son at ten. An oat milk latte with a tax attorney at one. An espresso with an art dealer at four. Each cup a marker on the rapidly narrowing calendar between her and the imaginary wedding she had promised to the world.
By the end of the second week, the taste of burnt beans and polite rejection had settled somewhere under her tongue like ash.
"Thank you for being honest," she said, for the fifth time that month, as the man across from her shifted in his chair, suddenly too big for his own confidence.
He was handsome in a way that photographed well. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a watch that was all clean steel lines and quiet wealth. One of Anna's "top five" candidates. Tech founder. Fond of hik
