Chapter 83 The Webs We Weave

• At lunch the next day, I met Noah at Miranda’s Brew, hoping that the cozier, more intimate environment might take some of the sting off of what I had to tell him. At the very least, it might discourage him from making a scene.
• We sat at one of the small tables so that we could face each other. Our coffee and sandwiches sat between us. He had gotten an espresso and a pastrami sandwich; I had ordered a tall mocha and a turkey sandwich.
• Noah leaned forward in his chair, tapping his fingers on the tabletop nervously. His eyes would move about the room, stopping briefly on me, only to quickly move to another spot in the room again. He knew that whatever reason I had to meet with him wasn’t good.