She had been...not sounded, when Palamedes had stopped replying to her texts, but she also hadn't been surprised. Over the years, she'd gotten used to disappointment, to not expecting anything go flourish. Still, when his text comes through on Thursday, something like relief blooms in her chest. She's glad go realise that she hadn't been mistaken.

By the time Saturday rolls around, Marianne has almost stopped expecting him to change his mind and cancel. She waits outside the restaurant that he'd suggested, dressed in loose trousers and a fitted top that leaves her shoulders bare, her fringe carefully ruffled across her forehead.

It's not a date, she reminds herself. It's an explanation.