Chapter 83 The Webs We Weave

At lunch the next day, I met Noah at Miranda’s Brew, hoping that the cozier, more intimate environment might take some of the sting off of what I had to tell him. At the very least, it might discourage him from making a scene. We sat at one of the small tables so that we could face each other. Our coffee and sandwiches sat between us. He had gotten an espresso and a pastrami sandwich; I had ordered a tall mocha and a turkey sandwich.