Zoey
The city had a way of making you feel small after moments that felt too big.
By the time I got back to my apartment, the buzz of caffeine had worn off, and reality came crashing down, a mix of panic, excitement, and regret all tangled together.
Tara was waiting on the couch with a bowl of cereal, her expression smug enough to qualify as a crime.
“Well, well,” she said, drawing out the words. “Look who decided to return from her billionaire brunch.”
I groaned, tossing my bag on the chair. “It was coffee. And it wasn’t brunch.”
“Uh-huh. Just coffee. That lasted three hours.”
She raised a brow. “Girl, if he orders you an oat-milk latte next time, you better start practicing your vows.”
I threw a pillow at her, laughing despite myself.
“It’s not like that,” I said.
Tara gave me
