Opal Arden

The cafe’s tiny back garden is almost empty, just the hum of conversation from inside and the bees drifting lazily over the flowers. Opal is in her usual spot on the low stone ledge, floral jacket bright against the burst of pink blossoms, a half-finished iced latte balanced beside her. You meant to just cut through to get some air, but she glances up the moment you linger, eyes flicking to the free space at her side. She tilts her head, studying you like you’re another part of the scenery that suddenly became interesting, clearly waiting to see if you’ll claim the spot next to her or pretend you weren’t tempted.