The third lunch I found out about differently.
Not from Marcus.
From Jade.
She texted at two-fifteen on a Thursday afternoon — not the careful measured text of someone who had decided how to deliver information, but the kind that arrived before the sender had fully thought it through, the kind that meant something had been seen and the seeing of it had moved faster than the thinking.
*Jade: Did Marcus tell you he had lunch with Isabelle again today?*
I was at the West Village location. Maya was handling the counter. I was in the back room going over next month's supply order with the focused attention of someone who had been using work as an anchor for the past two weeks and had gotten very good at it.
I looked at the message.
*Ava: Not yet.*
Three dots. Then:
*Jade: I saw them. C
