DEMETRIA

“It’s almost that season of the year, girl,” Anastasia remarked as soon as the waiter walked away with our lunch orders.

We were seated in our usual spot at Simonette, the soft hum of conversations around us mixing with the clinking of silverware and the warm scent of butter and fresh herbs drifting from the open kitchen. The place always felt cozy with light wood, soft lighting, and a hint of Paris tucked right into LA.

I chuckled. “I know. The months practically sprinted. ...