The diner smelled like coffee, fried onions, and fresh pie.
It wasn’t elegant.
There were no crystal glasses.
No white roses.
No pearl necklaces.
No people pretending to love each other.
And somehow, it felt more like family than the Whitmore estate ever had.
Camila sat between Sebastian and me in the red vinyl booth. Her pink dress was wrinkled …
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
