Emma furrowed her brows when I met her downstairs at the coffee shop. It was Saturday afternoon and I hadn’t heard from Hunter since he’d left sometime that morning: the happiest morning I’d had in a long time. With music blasting on the radio and sun shining through the windows I was just pressed against twelve hours earlier, I couldn’t help but dance around my apartment, washing my sheets and cleaning the whole place as if it were the first day of spring. “Hi to you too. How was your date, backstabber?” “Fine. Why didn’t you call to tell me that you were attacked?” “Oh, that.” “What were you thinking?” “Nothing. It was just a crazy day. With the robbery and the police and Hunter…” I stirred my coffee, keeping my gaze away from Emma’s. “What about Hunter?” she asked, curiously leaning in. I finally looked up.
