Meg Myers Morgan
Gemma worked the cardboard sleeve of her cup up and down, making a rhythmic drum on the marble table. She had chosen a seat near the window so she could watch for him. Choosing this coffee shop was strategic on her part. There was something about the high ceiling, the black and white penny-tiled floor, and the chairs that looked right out of a Parisian patisserie that evoked exactly the right level of laid-back prestige.