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Agatha’s Point of View
Concetta knocked twice, softly, the way she always did—as if the door might be sleeping too.
“Hi Agatha.”
“Hey. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“I was just finishing up, and I saw a glow under your door. I brought coffee.”
She held the cup in both hands, close to her chest, and the steam rose between us in the doorway like a question neither of us needed to answer.
“I was talking with Luca outside.”
“Not inside?”
“It would be unseemly.”
“Were you dressed like that?”