ADAN
Something doesn't feel right. I have this nagging sense that something happened that shouldn't have the night Renee came over to my place. I'm almost sure I signed something, or at least I think I did, but I have no idea what it was.
Now, seated at my usual spot by the window in this small café, I found myself staring out at the street, scanning every car that drove by.
I was waiting for Renee,
I'd chosen this café for a reason: their strict policy against reporters stepping foot inside.
It's the only place in the city where I can get a sliver of peace. Sure, the photographers can still snap their pictures through the large glass windows, but I don't mind that so much. As long as they're not shoving their cameras in my face or hurling invasive questions, I can deal.
My eyes caught a familiar car pulling into the driveway—a black sedan, unmistakably Renee's.