Point Us to Paris. Aimee Duffy
voicemails and was about to dial Gem when a text from a number she didn’t recognise flashed on her screen.
1pm. Le Petit Café.
The address followed. Had Elle and Gem bought a new phone to tempt her out of hiding, or worse, gotten a private investigator involved? She squeezed out a giggle, trying to convince herself the latter was ridiculous but she couldn’t say for sure that they hadn’t. Elle was just as prone to overreaction as her, albeit in a different way.
Jumping up, she stuffed her phone back in her pocket and then peeled out of the park, keeping a look out for the nearest taxi. She had an hour, but wanted to get there as early as possible in case her mental friends really had paid someone to find her.
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