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The wind carried salt from the sea across the balcony where Rina sat beside the open window. The rental cottage had belonged to her mother’s family for decades, rented from them for the week by her and Owen.
The rooftop greenhouse looked abandoned except for the glass dome that caught the moonlight. Clara and Mateo moved soundlessly through the aisles of plants, both clad in evening wear that clung to their bodies under the dim gold lamplight.
The rain had come at dusk, sending the scheduled departure from the conference downtown into cancellation. Avery sat beside Bianca in the spa’s secluded treatment room, watching the rain patter against the window.
The cabin had been rented under practical pretenses: Elena's boss's estranged wife had rented the place for her husband to hole up after a divorce. Elena had been left with the arrangements because she had planned the itinerary.
The balcony wind carried the scent of salt and distant waves, mingling with the dusky warmth of the rented villa below. Clara sat beneath the glass door, reading the same sentence in her book for the third time.
The hotel room above the abandoned jazz club looked abandoned except for the piano recording the night before. Maya sat beside the window with a glass of wine and watched the rain hit the glass, counting every drop.
Maya stood on the balcony with her arms wrapped around herself, the salt air making her nipples tighten against her cotton sweater. The rented cottage they had stayed in for the week had become a refuge, offering them privacy after months trapped under the same roof as their estranged parents.
The rooftop greenhouse offered a rare kind of privacy, isolated from the city traffic below by thick glass walls and the gentle rustle of wind through the vines. Theo had chosen this spot because it was one place where the past did not haunt him.
The loft had remained eerily abandoned except for the occasional creak of the roof settling beneath the weight of her dreams. Selene sat beneath the dim glow of a reading lamp, the scent of turpentine clinging to the walls.
The cabin faced the water, windows open to the misted woods, the screen door left open because the wind refused to be denied. Theo sat beneath the brass lamp, reading aloud from the first volume of *The Picture of Dorian Gray*, making room for the fireflies that had appeared earlier.
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