[Hazel]
“It’s okay, darling. These things happen sometimes. It’s not your fault she already had a packed schedule,” Elijah’s voice was warm and soothing through the phone, like a balm on a raw scrape. I sat at Buffy’s Fine Diner, slumped in a red vinyl booth, still waiting for my American breakfast set to arrive. My stomach growled—loudly. I hadn’t eaten a bite all morning as I rushed to meet Mrs. Walison on an empty stomach, fueled by urgency, nerves and guilt alone.
“Where are you now?” he asked gently. “Tell me, and I’ll come give you the tightest, most comforting hug of your life.”
God, him saying that—it undid me a little.
I won’t lie. I knew Elijah. I knew him in the kind of way people don’t talk about—his habits, his routines, his tells, even the way his eyes twitch ever so slig
