“Open it,” I said.
Linda stepped forward, clutching her designer tote so tightly the leather bent under her fingers.
“Brandon, what is going on?”
He ignored her. His eyes stayed locked on mine.
“Natalie,” he said carefully, “you’re making a scene.”
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“Open it,” I said.
Linda stepped forward, clutching her designer tote so tightly the leather bent under her fingers.
“Brandon, what is going on?”
He ignored her. His eyes stayed locked on mine.
“Natalie,” he said carefully, “you’re making a scene.”
Boston welcomed us beneath a low, November sky, the city shrouded in cold rain and fading afternoon light. Water traced crooked paths down the…