Chapter One
The Stranger Upstairs
Wagga Wagga, 5 o'clock. The light was honeyed. The archways cast long shadows across the courtyard of Mr. Lawrence. The cafe, the bar, the keeper of secrets and stories. Inside, espresso dripped like clockwork and jazz curled like smoke through the air.
He was polishing a cocktail glass when he heard the sound. Not footsteps. Rhythmic. Impossibly light.
And then, there she wasā¦
āI didn't come to be seen,ā she said, stepping out of the stairwell like a character from a noir film reel. āI came to be experienced.ā
Mr. Lawrence blinked once. Slowly. The only thing sharper than her silhouette was her certainty.
āName?ā he asked, not out of need ā but ritual.
āMadamelle.ā
The word rolled off her lips like a slow pour of sakƩ. Feminine. Fierce. Unapologetically stylish. A signature, not a name.
āAh,ā he said, placing the glass down. āThe new one upstairs.ā
to be continued...