FORTY SEVEN - RYDER

After Lexie left, I stood there, staring at the elevator, trapped in that moment. Time felt meaningless. It could have been just a minute, or maybe it was the entire night. When I finally blinked and pulled my gaze away, it was still dark out. The night hadn’t changed. The air had cooled, the fiery red clouds overhead beginning to shift, slowly gliding across the sky. In Los Angeles, rain never smelled fresh like it does in other places. It carried a metallic tang, sharp and bitter, the taste lingering in the back of your throat. I inhaled deeply, stepping out onto the terrace. The first drops of rain tapped softly against the stone, the flickering flames from the candles on the table quivering in protest as they tried to hold their ground against the wet air. I stood there, unmoving, taking it all in. She had really gone all out. The familiar aroma of Giardo’s carbonara and fettuccine filled the air, still warm, untouched. Fresh flowers were artfully arranged on the table—bought espec