Aldo
Layla was late, per usual. I supposed I couldn’t complain, considering I was the one who’d offered her a ride while her car was in the shop. And considering she was late because she was literally saving people’s lives.
Still, perching on the hard plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room made me uncomfortable—and not just because of the terrible furniture. The smells were wrong, too clean and starched. The colors were too white.
And the whole place felt like sadness.
But at long last, the door on the far end of the room opened, and Layla walked out.
She wasn’t alone.
A dark-haired man walked beside her, and my first thought was that he was far too tall and broad-shouldered to be walking that close to her.
They paused just inside the doorway, chatting. Friendly. Something s
