“The tenant now living in the loft once tried to kiss me. When she was underage, Caroline.” “Wow,” she says. She’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “This must be fate, right?” I shift in my seat, remembering with uncomfortable clarity that Juniper said the same thing. “It’s not fate,” I say. “There’s no fate.” “Well, if it’s not fate, what is it?” Caroline says. “Is she pretty?” “No,” my mouth says. Maybe, my brain says.
