The house was a modernist glass box clinging to a cliff above the Pacific, and it belonged to Celeste. Everything about her was cool geometry and uncluttered lines, until she laughed—then she was all wildfire. She’d called it a “gathering.” A “resonance.” For M...
Read MoreThe plan, Lena reminded herself, was supposed to be simple. A final, decadent hurrah before reality set in. In one week, she would disperse her mother’s ashes in the Oregon sea, sell the sprawling, shabby-chic Santa Barbara house they’d shared, and move to Chicago for a law internship...
Read MoreThe invitation arrived not as a proposition, but as an atmosphere. It had been woven through months of lazy Sunday mornings in bed, of whispered fantasies shared in the safe, warm dark between them. For Clara and Mateo, their love was a fortress, its walls not built to keep the world out, but to ...
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