Meryl's POV
Six o'clock sharp found me standing outside Tasha Yasmine Bistro, my nerves twisted into impossible knots. This wasn't the pleasant flutter of anticipation that came with genuine excitement. This was pure dread, the kind that made you want to turn around and pretend you'd never agreed to this whole thing in the first place.
Eastbrook thrived on gossip and observation. In a town this size, every movement was catalogued, every interaction dissected over morning coffee. Walking into this restaurant wearing wrinkled jeans, an unpressed blouse, and a hastily thrown together ponytail felt like stepping onto a stage where everyone knew their lines except me.
My feet almost carried me back to the parking lot.
But Dad's voice echoed in my head, that stubborn optimism he'd carried all week. His desperate hope that meeting this mysterious Mr. Faith might somehow snap me out of whatever funk he thought I was in. His belief that this could be my chance at something normal.
