Reagan pulled the puff pastries from her pocket and handed Libby the stuffed napkin as she stared at a Cupid sculpture. “Eat something.” Libby turned away from the sculpture and stared at the offering in her hand. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of water lapping gently against the pool’s stone walls, the scent of salt from the bay in the air, and Libby’s wide, unreadable eyes.
