Eloise 

By 6:40 p.m., I was dressed in my dress with cot and slacks the color of cream. Minimal makeup. Statement earrings. Just enough to show I hadn’t lost my touch, not enough to signal that I cared what he thought. The Uber dropped me off outside Bar Cassette, tucked behind a row of glass-fronted boutiques and independent bookstores. The street smelled of lavender oil from a nearby apothecary, and the sharp edge of citrus from someone’s Aperol spritz.

The air was warm, dusk starting to settle into the skyline.

I spotted him before I reached the steps—tall, well-dressed, unbothered as always. Damon stood near the entrance, scrolling through his...