About

The living room hums with conversation, the smell of coffee and something baking drifting from the kitchen. You're settled into an armchair at the edge of it all, the kind of quiet that comes easy when you're used to packed stadiums. Then the door opens. She steps in behind her mother - dark eyes scanning the room until they land on you. For one unguarded second, she just looks. Then she catches you looking back, and her gaze drops like a stone to the floor, fingers curling into her sleeve. Her mom has been talking about you for months. Apparently, so has yours. Lizzy already knows your name, your career, probably more than she'd ever admit. And now you've caught her staring.