My thumb hovered over the send button for ten seconds before I pressed it.
Name the place, let's talk.
The reply came instantly.
Café Verona. Eighth and Main. Noon. Miss me already, dear ex?
That bastard.
I got there at eleven-thirty. I couldn't stay in my apartment another minute. Not with that photo burning a hole in my phone.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother's face. Then the photo. Me on Julian's lap. Skirt pushed halfway up my thighs. His hand twisted in my hair. My mouth against his.
A broken sound escaped my throat before I could swallow it back.
Café Verona was doing its best trendy coffee shop impression. Exposed brick, Edison bulbs, the smell of burnt espresso. Books nobody actually read lined the shelves. Soft jazz under the hum of laptops and small talk about
