Layla
I perched on the edge of a park bench outside the hospital, phone in hand, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The heavy heat of daytime still weighted the air, though darkness had stolen over the city, ushering in the glow of false illumination.
I let my eyes read over Ethan’s message again: Coffee tomorrow? Same place as before?
I couldn’t help but smile. It was hard not to smile, with anything involving Ethan. He was so … warm. Caring. Kind. Easygoing.
He made me feel safe and comfortable in a way Aldo never did, in a way Marco never had, either. Though I supposed the comparison was unfair—Marco was deranged, and Aldo carried the weight of an entire family on his shoulders.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but before I could respond, someone sidled up beside me on almo
