A nice afternoon light sat over the city as Liam settled into his seat at Maison Noir, a five star restaurant he had spent twenty minutes finding specifically because it felt like somewhere Elena would agree to meet without complaining about the choice.
Inside the restaurant dark wood paneling ran along the walls, low warm lighting from fixtures overhead throwing amber circles across each table, white linen, candles, the kind of quiet that came from everyone in the room having decided to be somewhere expensive and conducting themselves accordingly.
Conversation murmured around him, present but contained, polite, each table existing in its own atmosphere.
Liam was sitting alone at a table near the center of the room.
He checked his phone.
She was an hour late.
He set his phone face down on the table and looked at the ceiling briefly. Then at the other tables. Then at the entrance. Then at his phone again.
