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“Checking in with the hostess.” Peregrine nudged Darcy. “Can’t believe you got us a reservation.”

“Thank my boss, not me,” said Darcy. “My name doesn’t have any pull.”

“Yet,” interjected Saga.

“Yet,” Darcy conceded with a modest but growing smile.

“Seems like they’re a little backed up, so Mags wanted to get an update on the waiting time.”

Saga checked her watch. “I’m not late, am I?”

“No, Mags was early. As usual.” The mocking tone in Darcy’s voice was playful, but Saga remembered a period in university where Magdalena’s militant timekeeping had put a strain on the friendship. She suspected it had reminded Darcy too much of her family and invoked a resurgence of petulant tardiness. It had made for a tense winter term.

“Here she comes,” announced Peregrine.

It was rare to see Magdalena out of scrubs, so much so that Saga almost didn’t recognize her, though the V-neck jumper beneath her overcoat was amusingly reminiscent of the uniform. “It should just be a few more minutes, so let’s move closer.” She pulled Saga into a grateful embrace. “You made it.”

“You sound surprised,” laughed Saga.

Magdalena shrugged. “Well, you’ve been pretty quiet since…”

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Saga offered. She didn’t want to linger on Saoirse’s funeral now.

“Me too,” agreed Mags.

“Same!” Peregrine chimed.

“Not me,” said Darcy, stepping with exaggerated flair as she led them through the crowd. “Good food with my favorite people in the world? Ugh. Horrible. Gauche!”

A wave of laughter rippled through the group, and Saga’s heart warmed. Magic was grand, but this was the healing she needed. “The group chat has been suspiciously quiet, so I assume you’ve all been ridiculously busy. Who wants to start us off? What’s been going on?”

“I’m gonna need a drink first,” said Peregrine.

“Well, then you better have something really juicy, because I have been pulling doubles for the past two weeks,” Magdalena complained. “My social life is shot, I am basically dating a vending machine, and I really need to live vicariously through you lot so I have something to keep me sane.”

“Well, now I’m worried my life isn’t exciting enough for this brunch,” mused Darcy.

Peregrine squinted at her. “Didn’t you just get back from Fashion Week?”

Darcy waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, but for alterations and repairs. I woke up when it was dark and went back to my hotel room when it was dark. Some nights I nearly slept backstage.”

“Sounds like my shifts at the hospital,” grumbled Magdalena.

“Honestly, kind of.” Darcy blinked hard a few times, like the mere thought of the week invoked exhaustion. “Only reason I knew I was in Paris is they held my coffee hostage until I asked for a café au lait.”

“Then regale us with tales about designer meltdowns and model feuds,” Magdalena insisted.

“It wasn’t like that,” Darcy protested.

“Don’t care. Make it up.”

Laughter erupted from the group again, and just as Saga felt the last ounce of tension from this morning leave her, she caught the aphrodisiacal enticement of amber and sandalwood.

“Saga Trygg…” The soft Romanian accent purred her name from over her shoulder.

Goose bumps rose in waves along her skin, shuddering down her back and along her arms. Fuck. “Oh, I…” Saga swallowed and stared at the other woman’s shoes. Stilettos. Immaculate. Of course. “…ona.”

“You never called.” Iona’s impeccably white heels shifted. She was standing directly in front of her now.