Therese BeHarrie

If the universe wanted Angie Roux to get home for Christmas, it had a hell of a way of showing it.

In the four hours she’d spent driving that day, Angie had been caught in stop-and-go roadworks four times; had been stopped by a traffic officer twice; had to change a flat tire, and now this.

People.

A crowd of them, standing outside the brick chapel next to the café she’d stopped at. She’d never actually seen the chapel in use before, though she wasn’t surprised she’d encountered it now, considering the universe’s current treatment of her. She just hoped the ‘if you talk to me, I’m going to punch you in the face’ expression she’d perfected at a young age would deter—

‘How did you get outside so quickly?’ a tall woman asked, walking toward her.

Angie looked behind her, and then, when she saw no one else, looked back at the woman. For good measure—her ‘talk to me at your own peril’ expression rarely didn’t work—she asked, ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Of course I am.’ The woman frowned. ‘You should still be inside. They’re signing the register.’

‘Okay,’ Angie replied slowly. ‘What should I be doing inside?’

‘Waiting for them,’ the woman answered with an impatient sigh. ‘Have you never attended a wedding before? Aren’t you thirty-two? Thirty-five? This can’t possibly be…’ She trailed off when Angie took a step back. Then another.

‘Where are you going?’

Angie didn’t answer. Instead, she turned around and began to walk back to her car. Her strides were slow, as if that would somehow mitigate that she’d left someone midconversation. Even if said person was trying to insult her.

The insult hadn’t landed though. Angie had never thought looking older was an insult. In fact, she considered it a compliment. She carried herself maturely, which came with a certain amount of authority. Authority that had helped her growing up as the oldest of three girls.

She was more insulted by herself and how slow she’d been on the uptake. The people outside of the chapel were celebrating a wedding. Which seemed pretty clear to her now, when it was too late. When she’d already walked into a wedding.

She shuddered, her steps quickening.

‘You’ve done enough to me today,’ she muttered to the universe. ‘Please, not this.’

As if in answer or punishment, a car turned into the gravel car park. Her feet stopped at her dilemma: because she’d taken the quickest route to her rental car, she was walking in the middle of the car park. She’d have to move to avoid being run over. Except she had nowhere to go.

There were empty parking spaces on either side of her, but that would risk being trapped or having to manoeuvre around the car—no, cars, she saw, taking in the line that had begun to form behind that first car—which would likely involve talking to people. Going forward wasn’t an option at the moment and back meant…

She shuddered again.

But then she was hooted at—multiple times—and that first car edged forward, forcing her back. Resisting the temptation to show the driver an impolite hand gesture, Angie gritted her teeth and turned around.

She tried to walk stealthily toward the crowd, so the woman who’d spoken to her earlier wouldn’t see her. Angie kept an eye on the woman, but she paid no attention to Angie. Relief soothed some of the apprehension in Angie’s chest. She might be able to make it to the café she’d come to without attracting any more—

‘Hey.’ A young woman with pink highlights stopped her. ‘Are you trying to get back into the chapel?’

Why did everyone think she wanted to get in the damn chapel?

‘No.’

‘Oh,’ the woman said disappointedly. Seconds later she brightened. ‘You’re arranging something cool for them for when they come out, aren’t you? Please tell me it’s a flash mob!’

‘It’s not a flash mob,’ Angie responded immediately. Apparentlymanaging the woman’s expectations was more important than getting herself out of her current predicament.‘I am trying to arrange something for them, but I have to get past you to do that.’

‘You’re too late,’ the woman said, panic in her eyes. ‘They’re here.’ Her expression turned sympathetic. ‘I’m sure they’ll forgive you though. You can go through here.’

The woman stepped back, creating a path for Angie before nudging Angie forward. The man she bumped into glanced back with a frown, then his eyes lowered over Angie and he nodded, shifting so Angie could move forward. The couple in front of him did the same, as did the people in front of them, until finally, Angie found herself with an unobscured view of the wedding party as they made their way out of the chapel.

Seeing the bridesmaids clarified why Angie was in this situation. There wasn’t—as Angie had begun to fear—a sign on her forehead identifying weddings as one of her least favourite activities, challenging people to change her mind. She was simply wearing an almost identical dress as the bridesmaids.

Hers was shorter, with a deeper neckline, but she could understand why no one had noticed those differences. Hell, she was wearing the dress and it had taken hera moment to.

It was unfortunate, and reinforced the voice in her head that told her she was too dressed up for a road trip. But the dress helped her feel confident, which was something she’d desperately needed to keep the unravelling at bay.

It was there even now, taunting her. Telling her she should have listened to the rational part of her that warned her against stopping at the café. Claiming that being mistaken as a bridesmaid at a wedding was punishment for not listening.

She took a breath to compose herself, to push the unravelling away, and told herself she’d expected this. She’d known the trip back to Cape Town would be hard. When she’d seen the green board with its white lettering indicating the turn-off to Caledon—when she’d put on her indicator and turned—she’d known it would be a challenge, too.

It had been three years since she’d been in Cape Town, after all. Three years since she’d seen her mother, her sisters. Three years since her father—

She stopped the train of thought. Tried to focus on something else. Like the fact that it had been even longer than three years since she’d been to Caledon. The last time had been with her family. Her whole family; not the incomplete unit it had become.

Fortunately, she didn’t have time to dwell on that when the bride and groom appeared. The guests began throwing rose petals at the newlyweds, and it reminded her of the picture that sat on her mother’s bedside table. It was of her parents on their wedding day. They stood at the top of the steps outside the church, looking at each other lovingly, happily, petals raining over their heads. The last time Angie had seen them together, the love had still been there, but the happiness had been missing…

You’re unravelling.

She swallowed and moved to the basket that had the rose petals in it, grabbing a handful and joining in on the excitement. Though it felt cringey, she clapped. When the photographer announced they’d be taking group photos, she tried to slip away…

And was foiled. Again.

‘You should stand right in front, young lady,’ an old man told her, shifting and blocking her way.

His entire head was white, sharply contrasting his dark brown skin, his face lightly lined with deeper creases around his eyes. He seemed like the type of person she might have liked had he not just stopped her from escaping.

She almost growled, but instead managed a polite, ‘I’m not a part of this wedding.’

‘Of course you are. And you’re beautiful.’

‘I’m sorry—what?’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he repeated. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of being in front of the photographers.’

‘Wow, thanks,’ she deadpanned, adding his face to her rapidly growing list of people who didn’t have any boundaries with strangers.

‘Could you let me past?’ she asked, keeping to her strategy of pretence. ‘I’m going to go around the crowd so I can get to the front quicker.’

‘Good idea,’ he said approvingly, moving so she could walk past him.

She could feel his eyes on her, so she walked slowly around the edge of the crowd. When she passed enough people, she hid at the side of the chapel, where she fully intended on staying until she was out of this nightmare. It was pathetic, but she was willing to be pathetic for the sake of self-care.

As if to test that willingness, a couple began walking her way. She slunk deeper into the shadows, but they kept moving forward. When the woman pulled out a packet of cigarettes—seriously, they were going to smoke right next to a chapel?—Angie stepped back again.

She wasn’t obscured, and the couple was almost near her, but there was nowhere to go. Her back was against the wall—or against the shrubs, as it were. She panicked for about a second, then decided she’d had enough of the damn wedding.

Swallowing her pride, she ducked through the shrubs.

It rattled. Or rustled.Or made whatever sound a shrub made when someone went through it. She groaned and almost pleaded with the powers that be to make sure no one saw her duck through a shrub to escape a wedding.But with her current luck, that would all but ensure someone would follow her through to ask why she wasn’t in the photos.

Fortunately, the shrub hadn’t been a large one, and she made it through relatively unscathed. Her hair needed some convincing to disentangle from the branches, but rather that than the dress. It had been expensive. And it was gorgeous. She’d bought it to soften her mother up when they eventually reunited. Instead, she’d worn it for a five-hour road trip.

Maybe she already was unravelling.

When the thought had her heart thumping against her chest, she swallowed and took a steadying breath. She could do this. She could make it to the café and wait the wedding out. She could.

She straightened and tried to formulate a plan. She was currently on the edge of a large field that was a hub of busyness. People milled around, carrying boxes or guiding cars into what seemed to be designated spots. Some of the cars were sedans, others trucks, and their spots seemed to depend on that distinction.

Her eyes lifted before she could confirm it, settling on the road she’d taken to enter the town, visible from where she stood. It was a reminder that she’d consciously made the decision to come to this place. Despite the memories it had of her life before she’d left South Africa—or perhaps, because of the memories—she’d decided to stop there.

Almost instantly the lid of the container she kept those memories in popped open and she remembered.

The family trips to the Eastern Cape. How she and her sisters, Sophia and Zoey, would nag until their father stopped barely an hour outside of Cape Town. How he’d always made it seem like some huge concession, stopping at the small town where he and Angie’s mother had once lived. In reality, Daniel Roux had been happy to spend time at the casino that had become a major tourist attraction for Caledon. Angie and her sisters would play games in the arcade, before they’d all take the obligatory drive through town so her parents could reminisce. The detour would end in a meal at the café that was just a few metres away from where Angie currently was.

Her heart broke a little, and she closed her eyes, forcing air into her lungs. She hadn’t thought about any of this in years. Had actively avoided it. And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she’d decided to come here now when she knew it would force her to face those memories.

Unless it didn’t, she thought, opening her eyes again. She needed to distract herself. Or, at the very least, figure out how she could put herself back together again before she unravelled completely.

She walked along the edge of the field, staying close to the shrubs—since she was so comfortable with them now—in case she had to hide again. To avoid the wedding, or in case someone on the field noticed her and tried to get her to participate in the activities. She wasn’t in the mood for that either.

A few metres later, she found a well-looked-after pathway. She supposed it was the usual way people got from the property that held the café to this field, though she had no idea why they’d want to. How many people needed to seek refuge from a wedding?

And on a related note—what were the chances that, if she took this pathway to the café, she’d need to seek refuge again?

Realising she didn’t have much of a choice, she took the steps down to the pathway, consoling herself with the idea of hiding in the shrubs that lined it if she needed to. Which was so ridiculous she almost laughed. Knew her sister Zoey would, too, when she told—

She stopped the thought midway. She couldn’t keep doing this. She’d already exceeded her quota of memories and nostalgia for the day. Sticking to that quota was pivotal to her mental health. She’d learnt that very early on in the life she’d built for herself after she’d left Cape Town.

She shook her head and walked into the open air again, immediately bumping into the old man she ran from earlier.

Seriously—what did I do to you? she asked the universe silently, before fixing a smile onto her face. ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she said in a falsely bright voice.

‘Where did you just come from?’ he asked without preamble. ‘Are you alone?’

‘I just—’ Oh, what the hell? ‘No. My boyfriend’s still back there.’ She smoothed her dress down and offered him a chagrined smile. ‘I’m sorry. Weddings are just so romantic, and with the group pictures being taken, we thought we’d take a moment to ourselves. Very quickly,’ she assured him, ducking her head as if embarrassed. ‘I’m sure we weren’t missed.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ the man said with a frown. ‘You’re a bridesmaid. Part of the group.’

‘Yes, well… The family pictures are being taken,’ she said, mentally crossing her fingers as if somehow, that would keep her from tripping over the elaborate tale she was weaving. ‘I’m sure you can understand.’ And leave me alone.

There was a pause, then the man smiled. ‘Well, if the family pictures are being taken, I’m sure you aren’t missed.’

‘Me, too. I should probably run back though. Before they realise I’ve gone.’

Before you start asking about why my boyfriend hasn’t come out of the shrubs yet, too.

She nodded her goodbye and walked in the direction of the café, hoping he wouldn’t notice she wasn’t heading back to where they’d first met. But at this point, she didn’t care. She was counting on not having to see him again. Except when she looked over her shoulder, he was still following her.

She couldn’t say anything about it. Perhaps the wedding celebrations had moved. Perhaps the photos were being taken elsewhere. Or perhaps he was checking that she was heading back to do her duties. He must have thought her a terrible bridesmaid. She didn’t blame him.

The café was only a few steps away, and she didn’t dare check if he was still behind her. Instead, she stopped walking and dug around in her handbag for her lipstick. She held it up triumphantly when she found it, before making as if she were heading to the bathroom in the café.

Her eyes widened as she entered and took in all the people there. People who were dressed smartly. Who were milling around as if waiting for something. Who were—

Damn it, who were wedding guests.

She didn’t peek out the door to check for the old man as she’d intended to before snagging a table for herself. She looked, but none seemed to be free, and she was starting to draw attention to herself by not moving from the doorway. The last thing she needed was attention, especially not from wedding guests.

Wielding her lipstick in front of her as if some kind of shield, she moved farther into the café, her eyes sweeping over the room until it rested on a booth in the corner. There was only one man sitting there, papers strewn all over the table.

Not a wedding guest then.

Before she was fully aware of it, she was walking toward him.

And then she was sliding into the booth opposite him.

‘Please,’ she said, her voice surprisingly hoarse. ‘Please pretend like I’m here with you.’

The man looked up and Angie blinked. Then did it a couple more times in case her mind was playing tricks on her. Or perhaps the universe was.

What were the chances she’d slide into a booth opposite a man who looked like he’d jumped straight out of her fantasies?

Smooth brown skin stretched over the angular features of his face. The lines of his cheekbones merged effortlessly to create a defined jaw that was currently peppered with the exact right amount of facial hair. It highlighted the curve of some very fine lips, and somehow complemented his sharp nose.

She swallowed. Forced her attention back to her current task. Which, when she saw the expression on his face, might not be as easy as she hoped.

‘How about a deal?’ There was urgency in her voice. ‘I pay for your meal, you pretend like I’m here with you?’

‘Should I take offence that you think I need you to pay for my meal?’

He had one of those voices that demanded the listener’s skin turn into gooseflesh.

She wasn’t even surprised.

‘No,’ she replied quickly, and her gaze rested on his left hand.

No wedding ring.

‘Unless I’m taking up someone else’s place here?’ she asked demurely. ‘In which case, I’ll search for help elsewhere.’

His mouth curved up at the side as he set down his pen. Her eyes followed, noting the shirt that was rolled up at the forearms moulded to a muscular body. If it weren’t for the papers, she might not have known he wasn’t with the wedding.

‘I’m alone,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ It made something flutter in her stomach. Unreasonably so. ‘Well, then, my plea stands.’ She sighed a little. ‘I’m desperate.’

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t notice the signs as I drove into this place. For the wedding?’ she prompted when he narrowed his eyes. ‘Unfortunately, I’m wearing a dress similar to the wedding party and people keep trying to drag me into the celebration. Or into photos. Someone asked me if I was planning a flash mob. A flash mob.’ She closed her eyes with a shake of her head. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

Interest sparked in his eyes. ‘I thought all women loved weddings?’

‘Now isn’t that an ignorant thing to say?’ she drawled. ‘I thought more of you.’

‘Really?’ He placed those defined forearms on the table. ‘Why? You don’t know me.’

‘I guess I wanted to believe a man so focused on reading he didn’t realise there was a wedding happening around him was intelligent.’

‘You could be wrong.’

‘I could be,’ she agreed, peeking at what he was reading. ‘But since that’s an article on the gender pay gap in South Africa, I don’t think I am.’ She paused. ‘You’re reading an article on the gender pay gap in South Africa? Not really the sort of thing someone reads at a café in a small town, is it?’

‘What do people read at a café in a small town?’ he asked seriously.

‘I don’t know. Thrillers? Maybe research on how to get away with the perfect crime?’

‘Because they’re planning on going on a killing spree?’

She pulled her face. ‘I realised it sounded suspicious as soon as I said it.’

‘It’s not exactly the kind of thing you should say to a stranger,’ he agreed.

‘In case it’s true?’

‘In case you’re the one with the killing plans.’

A grin captured his mouth and suddenly it felt as if the air in her lungs wasn’t getting to where it needed to be. She couldn’t bring herself to look away though. She was too enthralled at how a man she’d already thought sexy could become sexier.

No man should have that kind of power. No man should look like he did.

There was a certainty to those thoughts that surprised her. That should have had her getting up, walking away. Faraway from this man with his amazing face and his hot voice and his sexy smile. Far, faraway from this man who didn’t inspire her usual reaction to strangers; who made her feel comfortable.

Despite how those thoughts had her stomach rolling, she didn’t walk away. She greedily took in the overwhelming perfection in front of her. When she forced her eyes back up to his—and she saw a glint there—heat curled up her neck.

‘I’m not.’ She cleared her throat when a hoarse voice said the words. ‘A serial killer. Or a criminal of any kind.’

‘Good to know.’

‘And I know you probably didn’t come here for a stranger to interrupt what is probably pivotal “me” time.’

His lips curved. ‘I didn’t, but it’s not unwelcome.’ He lifted a hand and ran it through the black strands of hair. The result was untidy; his hair and the pounding of her heart. ‘I could do with a break from work.’

‘This is work?’ she asked, trying to ignore the unfamiliar responses of her body. ‘You’re reading up on the gender pay gap for work?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ He leaned back now, lazily throwing an arm on the top of the booth he sat in. ‘I’m preparing for a class I’m giving.’

‘You’re a teacher?’

‘Lecturer.’

‘In?’

The grin returned. ‘Women’s studies.’

‘Really?’ Angie’s lips curved. ‘I take it your earlier comment about all women loving weddings is a part of your teaching approach then? Antagonising them so you can have a greater look into their psyche?’

‘Something like that,’ he answered, but his smile sobered. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I just like seeing people’s responses to provocative statements. It’s a bad habit.’

‘How did I measure up?’

‘Pretty well, actually. Usually I’d get some sort of insult back.’

‘Someone calling you ignorant isn’t an insult?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, ha ha,’ she said. But smiled. And got one in return.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that they held each other’s gazes. It felt like minutes. Hours, even. Her heart beat a strange, unfamiliar rhythm in her chest and her thoughts danced to it.

They told her the last thing she needed was a romance with a stranger she met in a café. A café that held memories she’d managed to ignore because of him. Until that moment.

It still looked the same. The exposed brick walls, the brown cushioning of the booths, the wooden tables. The pictures on the walls were different now though. The abstract photos of shapes and colours had been replaced with photos of people diving into the river at the edge of the property; couples laughing in their wedding attire as they stepped out of the chapel; and people sharing meals right here in the café.

Automatically her gaze found the booth she and her family used to sit in every time they were there. There was nothing special about it. It looked like every other booth in there. Except that they’d insisted on sitting there every time. With her father’s steady charm—she wasn’t sure how that worked as a description for him, but it did—they somehow managed to get it every time.

Suddenly the excuses she’d given for stopping at the café fell away. She didn’t need to give her body a break from driving. She didn’t need to give her mind a break from thinking. She wanted…to feel her father’s presence.

She clenched her jaw and reminded herself of the quota. A part of her responded by entertaining the idea of romance with this strange man.

But there wasn’t a romance, not really. Attraction, maybe, but certainly not romance. And the attraction would go nowhere. It could go nowhere. She was already fighting emotions off as if she were protecting a child who would save all humanity in a post-apocalyptic movie. She had too much to deal with to entertain a romance oran attraction. So she forced herself to see it as what it was; a reprieve from a wedding she didn’t want to be included in.

Steadier now that she’d reminded herself of why she was there—now that she’d put the memories back where they belonged—she ignored the awareness that prickled up and down her skin and looked away. The café still held guests of the wedding. Some of them occasionally glanced her way with a frown.

She turned back to the man. ‘Does needing a break from work mean you wouldn’t mind if I stayed here? Just until the guests are called back into the event venue?’

‘Sure.’ He paused. ‘I won’t ask you to pay for my meal either.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t mind.’

‘In return—’ he continued with a small smile ‘—I’d like to know what your name is.’

‘Easy enough.’ She offered a hand. ‘Angie.’

‘Ezra,’ he replied, taking it. That strange beat started in her chest again. As soon as it was appropriate to break contact, she did.

‘Should we get the waitress’s attention?’ Ezra asked, already looking for the woman. When he got her attention, he indicated that they needed her, and his eyes returned to Angie.

They were a bronze colour, more gold than rustic, and incredibly distinctive. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed them before.

Her gaze flitted back over the sharp lines of his jaw and the stubble that covered it. She saw the sweeping—now untidy—style of his dark hair, and the way the not-quite-blue, not-quite-purple shirt he wore sharply contrasted his dark features. And then there were those muscles visible under his shirt…

Oh, yes. That was how she hadn’t noticed those gorgeous eyes before.

Focus, Ange, she commanded herself. But it was so damn tempting to keep staring at the man in front of her. He was possibly the most beautiful man she’d seen, and she hadn’t shied away from noticing them in her lifetime.

Although the last three years might have been an exception. Things had changed—she had changed—when she’d left Cape Town. Before then. So perhaps this was just a reaction to the fact that she hadn’t really noticed men in recent times.

Oh, they’d been there. Some had even tried to flirt with her. She hadn’t had the emotional energy to do anything other than give them a look that conveyed her feelings about their offers. Which was somewhere in the region of ‘if you’re not someone I have to deal with, then no.’

Of course, the same could have been said for anyperson who’d approached her in a nonpivotal way over the last three years.

And yet…

Her eyes moved back over him; her skin prickled again.

And yet.

Relief shot through her when the waitress arrived, and she ordered a large chai latte. It was an indulgence, but it always calmed her. She needed calm now, with the weight of returning to Cape Town on her shoulders.

‘What made you stop at a tiny café and lodge in Caledon where there just happened to be a wedding?’ he asked when the waitress left.

‘I’m on my way—’

She nearly said ‘home’ before she realised Cape Town wasn’t her home anymore. It hadn’t been for years. And she couldn’t exactly dive into all the reasons she’d stopped in Caledon when she was only just beginning to discover how deep they went. She settled for the abridged version.

‘I’m on my way to visit my family. For Christmas. We used to stop here on our family trips, and—’ she lifted her hands ‘—nostalgia. You?’

‘More or less the same. Besides the part about stopping here for family trips.’

‘Where are you coming from?’

‘Grahamstown.’

Surprise fluttered through her. ‘That’s quite the trip. You’re a lecturer there?’

He hesitated. ‘I used to be. For the last two years.’

‘And now?’

‘Now…’ he trailed off and she thought it was because he didn’t know what to tell her.

Which was strange. She hadn’t pegged him for the hesitant kind.

Because you know him so well after these last fifteen minutes?

‘Now you’re preparing lectures in a café in Caledon,’ she offered, ignoring the snarky thought. His eyes shone with gratitude. ‘Is that an upgrade or a downgrade?’

‘Neither, really,’ he said with a smile that kicked her heart into overtime. ‘I’ve worked in worse and better environments.’

‘The academic year has ended though, hasn’t it? Why are you still preparing lectures? And for where, if you aren’t working at the university in Grahamstown?’

‘The curse of being in academia,’ he replied, but the muscles around his mouth tightened. He wasn’t telling the truth, she realised. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her.

‘I knew I escaped for a reason.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You used to be in academia?’

‘I used to be a tutor.’ It felt like a long time ago. Everything had changed since then. ‘I had every intention of studying toward a PhD until I did my Honours and realised I had no desire to study further. After I graduated, I taught at a small school in Cape Town for a little bit.’

‘Which one?’

‘Would you know it if I told you?’

‘Maybe.’ He fell silent, as if considering his next words. ‘I told you I’m visiting my family in Cape Town. I grew up there.’

‘Small world.’

Why did that fact send her stomach tumbling?

‘Where are you coming from?’

‘Knysna.’ Because she didn’t want to answer any more questions about that, she answered his previous one. ‘The school I taught at was in Kuils River. Free Haven.’

His eyes rested on hers. It felt as if he saw too much.

‘Durbanville.’

‘So we’re both going back to the Northern Suburbs as well,’ she said. Again, she felt that strange frisson in her belly.

But did it matter that they were headed in the same direction? She would never see him again after she left the café. As soon as she finished her drink, she’d do some stretches, give herself a pep talk, and leave to spend Christmas with her family.

It would all be perfectly fine.

‘So you are leaving.’ Her sister’s voice was flat. ‘Why does this not surprise me?’

‘It’s for a job.’

‘Sure.’

‘Sophia.’

‘It’s fine, Angie. Leave. I’ll be here for Mom and Zo. You just…leave.’

Ah, yes, the reason ‘perfectly fine’ felt like a big ol’ pile of manure. The reason she felt as if the world was slowly burning around her. Why she suspected going home and facing her sisters and her mother would be like walking through the fire.

‘Can I get you anything else, miss?’ The waitress set down Angie’s latte.

‘Please,’ Angie said, and curled her hands around the mug. ‘What’s the strongest alcohol you serve?’

  

• Text Copyright © 2018 by Therese Beharrie