Natalie's POV
The café Eleanor chose sat two blocks from the satellite branch, quiet enough at ten in the morning that we had our pick of tables, and she'd already claimed the one in the back corner by the time I arrived — away from the window, away from anyone who might glance in and recognize either of us.
"Natalie." She rose slightly as I approached, more formality than I expected from a woman about to discuss her son's failing marriage. "Thank you for coming."
"You made it sound important."
"It is." She gestured to the chair across from her. A pot of tea already sat between us, two cups poured, hers untouched. "Sit. Please."
I sat. The tea smelled like bergamot and something floral I couldn't name, and I wrapped both hands around the cup mostly for something to do with them, some
