You'd found a spot beside Daphne near the middle of the table, close enough to the platters of toast and eggs but far enough from the usual morning chaos.

A few heads turned. The low murmur of the table shifted, attention dragging toward the doors.

Mattheo walked in. And beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, was Astoria Greengrass.

She was mid-sentence, smiling up at him, her hair falling over one shoulder. Mattheo's head was tilted toward her as she spoke, his expression relaxed, easy—familiar.