The Forgotten Luna
She didn’t buy it, her brown eyes narrowing, but before she could press, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.
Stella’s face lit up, and she practically skipped to answer it. I followed, lingering by the staircase as she swung the door open.
There stood Roger, exactly as she’d described: tall, his blonde hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a beach, with chocolate-brown eyes that sparkled with charm. He wore a fitted navy shirt and jeans, his easy grin lighting up the entryway. “Hey, Stella,” he said, his voice smooth as honey.
“Roger!” Stella beamed, stepping aside. “Come in. This is Anna, my best friend.”
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