With a swallow, I send the call to voicemail. It makes me feel like a fucking child to do it, but when a woman suddenly appears at the edge of my table with slightly narrowed eyes, I drop the thought as if it were nothing. “Aurora, right?” she asks, not waiting for my answer before yanking the chair opposite of me out from beneath the table and sitting. “You look exactly like you do in your Facebook profile photo. That doesn’t happen often.”
