DEMETRIA

I needed the break. Kneading dough and piping cream had me feeling every muscle in my shoulders scream. At 12:45 pm, I left the bakery, told Amanda I’d be back in an hour, and rushed through Culver City traffic to Simonette.

The sunlight was gentle through the café windows, shining off polished wood tables and soft light bouncing off wine glasses. Anastasia was already there, waving with her usual dramatics from a table by the courtyard.

She stood to hug me. “Deme! You look ...