Maybe
SAINT LAURENT The sky had that sleepy, bluish-pink tint as we pulled into the driveway. Genevieve was quiet the entire ride back, cradling the little beaded bracelet Brianna had handed her—Nia’s name spelled out in tiny white letters. She hadn’t let it go once. It sat curled in her palm like a promise she didn’t know she’d been waiting for. I parked the car, engine ticking in the silence, and glanced over at her. “You good?” I asked softly. She nodded, but I knew that look. The one she gave when her mind was running faster than her lips could keep up. She didn’t answer, just opened the door and stepped out. I followed. Inside, everything still smelled like ocean breeze and perfume. Last night’s champagne bottle sat unopened on the counter. Her jacket was tossed over the arm of the
- Writer
