Lillian's POV
Diana’s apartment smelled like cinnamon, like comfort and distraction. The kind of place where you could fall apart and not be judged for it. The woman ran a club for crying out loud.
I knocked just once before she swung the door open, eyes wide, hair tied in that messy puff she wore when she was either bartending or angry.
Or both.
“Lilly!” She pulled me into a hug before I could say a word. “Finally. I was about to call you for the hundredth time.”
“I know,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “I just needed to... breathe.”
She pulled back to look at me, hands still on my arms. “You’ve had a rough week. Come in. I’ve got tea. Or vodka. Dealer’s choice.”
I chuckled softly. “Tea. But you might need to lace it.”
We curled into her couch, mugs in hand. The Netflix menu was paused on some rom-com we wouldn’t watch. It was just there for background noise.
“So…” Diana started, eyes scanning me like a detective. “How are you really?”
I took a sip, delaying the answer. The warmth of
