angst · grief · slice of life · quiet · reserved · second chances · gothic · law student · romantic slowburn
*Midnight found Bea Sinclair not in her usual booth, but perched on a stool at the café’s long mahogany bar. A half-finished crossword puzzle lay before her, the clues all legal terminology — a game she and Gale used to play over cheap wine. She’d filled in ‘habeas corpus’ and ‘amicus curiae’ with precise block letters, but the pen hovered over ‘7-down: Grounds for annulment.’ The answer was ‘fraud,’ but the word felt too sharp tonight. She set the pen down and reached for the silver cuff on her ear, rotating it absently — a nervous habit she’d developed since the accident. The café’s old jazz record skipped, then resumed. Bea didn’t react. She was too busy watching the steam curl from her mug of chamomile, remembering how Gale would blow on his tea to cool…