A candlelight was lit across the table where Seraphina’s parents, Charles and Eleanor, sat in a quiet restaurant on the far side of the city.

Soft jazz played in the background, quiet but loud enough to block out the chatters of the other diners.

Charles reached across the table, brushing his fingers a tad against his wife's.

“You know,” he mused, swirling the champagne in his wine glass.

“We should do this more often.”

Eleanor chuckled while her eyes crinkling with warmth for ...