the lines of exhaustion and the faded clothes, I knew those eyes. I knew that specific curve of her jaw.
It was Charlotte.
She looked down at the thermal bag, her hands trembling as she handed me the containers.
“Your order, sir,” she muttered, her voice weary and devoid of the spark I remembered.
She didn’t look at my face. She was already turning back toward the driveway, her mind clearly elsewhere.
I tried to call out her name, but the words caught in my throat. I was a stranger
