Abby sat. The package in her coat pocket felt heavier now, but not in a bad way. Some meetings are accidents. Others are the universe finally getting tired of waiting.

It was the kind of rain that made you forget the sun had ever existed. Abby Winters stood under the awning of a closed bookstore, her leather jacket dotted with moisture, and watched the water rush along the curb. She was supposed to be meeting someone—Darcy—a name that felt like a dare on her tongue.

“You're not Darcy,” Diana said, her voice low and curious.

“You two know each other?” Darcy asked, shrugging off her coat.

Abby and Diana exchanged a glance. The rain drummed on the glass.

“No,” Abby replied, shaking water from her sleeves. “But the rain is, apparently, a very controlling date.”

“Not yet,” Diana said. “But we’re about to.”

Inside, the bell above the door chimed. Diana looked up. For a second, neither spoke.

When Darcy finally arrived—breathless, apologetic, and completely unaware of the shift that had just occurred—she found Abby and Diana sharing a single pastry, fingers brushing over the last crumb.

Diana wasn't looking for anyone. She was reading a thick paperback, one leg tucked under her, her dark hair falling in a way that seemed rehearsed but wasn't. Abby's plan had been simple: meet Darcy, exchange a package, leave. But the rain had other ideas.

Across the street, a coffee shop glowed amber through the storm. And there, in the window, was Diana.

Diana laughed—a small, surprised sound. She gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Then sit. Darcy’s always late.”