“You're not Darcy,” Diana said, her voice low and curious.
Abby sat. The package in her coat pocket felt heavier now, but not in a bad way. Some meetings are accidents. Others are the universe finally getting tired of waiting.
Diana laughed—a small, surprised sound. She gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Then sit. Darcy’s always late.” Abby winters darcy diana
Across the street, a coffee shop glowed amber through the storm. And there, in the window, was Diana.
When Darcy finally arrived—breathless, apologetic, and completely unaware of the shift that had just occurred—she found Abby and Diana sharing a single pastry, fingers brushing over the last crumb. “You're not Darcy,” Diana said, her voice low
Abby and Diana exchanged a glance. The rain drummed on the glass.
Inside, the bell above the door chimed. Diana looked up. For a second, neither spoke. Some meetings are accidents
“No,” Abby replied, shaking water from her sleeves. “But the rain is, apparently, a very controlling date.”
It was the kind of rain that made you forget the sun had ever existed. Abby Winters stood under the awning of a closed bookstore, her leather jacket dotted with moisture, and watched the water rush along the curb. She was supposed to be meeting someone—Darcy—a name that felt like a dare on her tongue.