Veyna showed up at my apartment at seven with a bottle of red wine, a bag of chips, and the focused energy of a woman who had been sitting on questions all day and was done waiting.
She didn't even take her coat off first.
"Sit," she said, pointing at my couch.
"It's my apartment."
"Sit, Samantha."
I sat.
She poured two glasses, handed me one, dropped onto the cushion beside me, crossed her legs, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her dark eyes were bright and completely unintimidated by my expression.
"Spill," she said. "Everything. The hot stalker showed up at your actual workplace. Behind your counter. In your apron space." She paused. "This is not normal rebound behavior."
"He's not a rebound."
"Oh, so he's something."
"That's not what I—" I stopped. Took a sip of wine. "He
