Chapter 7
The afternoon sun poured golden light through the tall windows of Riverbend, the familiar hum of lunchtime chatter swirling around Viola as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was back at her favourite corner — this time as a guest, not a writer. Her laptop was closed. Her coffee was warm. And for once, her mind wasn’t racing.
At least, not until Samantha dropped into the chair across from her with a dramatic sigh, a half-buttoned apron slung around her waist.
“Kill me,” Sam groaned, pressing her forehead to the table. “Three shifts in a row. I swear I’m seeing sugar packets blink.”
Viola laughed. “You need sleep, not caffeine.”
“I need divine intervention,” Sam muttered, sitting up and tightening her ponytail. “And for creepy table eight to leave me alone.
