Chapter 7

The light filtering through the heavy, dust-moted windows of the private booth was amber and thick, the color of aged whiskey poured into a tumbler. It was the kind of light that made everything look expensive, nostalgic, and impossibly intimate. I was awake, but I didn’t open my eyes right away. I could feel the weight of him, the solid, reassuring pressure of his arm draped across my waist, holding me flush against his chest. His heartbeat was a slow, steady drum against my ear, a rhythm that had been the only constant in my world since the moment the clock struck midnight. We had crashed in the VIP section of *The Gilded Cue*, that vintage pool hall tucked away in the district where the neon signs buzzed with a low, electric hum. The leather booth was worn smooth by years of elbows and laughter, the green felt of the nearest table visible just beyond the velvet divider, pristine and untouched. It should have felt chaotic, a place of noise and clacking billiard balls, but in here, under the amber glow, it was a sanctuary. We had arrived late, shedding the weight of the evening’s social obligations like heavy coats,