The Night I Tasted Her Lipstick on My Own Tongue

Anniversary night. Pax doesn't show.

I'm at the window seat at Bestia, seven o'clock to nine. The waiter tops up my water for the third time and his eyes have moved from polite to sorry for me.

His last text is timestamped 6:12.

*Stuck in a board thing, baby girl. Sit tight.*

I'm staring at *baby girl* when something cheap and sweet floods my mouth. Synthetic peach. Sugar musk. Like someone smeared a Bath & Body Works tester across my tongue.

Then a man's breath, warm against an ear that isn't mine. A low laugh against a throat that isn't mine.

"Stop. Wren's still waiting."