LEXIE
FEW HOURS LATER
The book Mia lent me was actually good. I had been putting off admitting that because she had been smiling at me every time she saw me with it in a way that said she already knew, and I wasn't ready to give her the satisfaction.
But lying on my bed at half past six with the evening light coming soft through the window, I had to concede the point.
The writing was good and the main character made terrible decisions in an extremely relatable way and I had gone through sixty pages without noticing. I turned to another page and continued reading.
Downstairs the bar was quiet, too early for the evening crowd, that comfortable lull between the afternoon and the night where the building just breathed for a while.
I could hear Mia moving around below, the occasional
