Alma found out about the lunch, and she never stopped teasing her for it.
The next morning, Abbie woke late, sunlight slipping through the blinds in thin, quiet lines. Her head still felt full, not from wine, but from memory. From the way his voice had softened when he said goodbye.
She stayed in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling. Outside, Montreal was alive again, car doors slamming, someone’s radio humming, laughter drifting up from the street below. The city moved on, unaware she was still caught somewhere between their lunch and the echo of his fading footsteps.
She thought about how easy it had been to talk to him, how nothing needed to be forced. He hadn’t treated her like the kid sister anymore. Not like a responsibility. Not like a shadow.
For the first time, she fe
