Eleanor
Saturday mornings at Lara’s place were my favorite kind of slow. The kind where you linger over breakfast, sip coffee like you have all the time in the world, and stretch out on the couch with no real agenda except existing.
It was a nice contrast to the structured chaos of the courthouse, where everything had a deadline, a purpose, an urgency that never seemed to fade.
We had just finished eating; French toast, because Lara had a mild obsession with it and refused to eat anything else on Saturday mornings, when my phone rang. The sound cut through the easy quiet of her apartment, vibrating against the wooden table.
“Who’s calling you this early?” Lara asked and I looked at her with a shrug. I wasn’t sure, but I was more into what we were talking about to care.
“I’ll just b
