The humidity in the city didn't just hang in the air; it clung to you like a wet sheet. I stood in my kitchen, the air conditioner humming a losing battle against the July sun beating down on the glass walls of my penthouse. I poured two glasses of iced tea, the cubes clinking against the crystal.
Bella had arrived three days ago. Her father, Mark, had practically begged me to keep an eye on her during her summer break from university. I’d known Bella since she was in pigtails and scraped knees. To me, she was still that gangly kid who used to hide my car keys as a prank.
"Is it always this oppressive in the city?"
I turned to see her leaning against the doorframe. She wore an oversized t-shirt that swallowed her frame and a pair of loose linen shorts. Her hair was a wild halo of curls
