SCATTERSHOT SLEEP FILLED the rest of Mira’s night. She spent the remaining hours shifting her body from one edge of the bed to the other. When dawn came and Mira’s room filled with the morning light’s amber glow, she pulled herself out of bed to get ready. At least by the time she showered and dressed the restaurant would be open and she could get a little food and coffee in her system.

The restaurant was crowded by the time Mira arrived. She assumed most everyone she saw had been at last night’s party, and they’d managed to beat her here, filling the dining room and the bar in the hope of brunch cocktails before the ceremony. Mira stood at the entrance, waiting until an empty seat became available, and when it did, she sat down and asked for a menu.

“It’s packed,” she told the bartender, an older black man who had only enough time to smile back before he had to help other customers. He moved briskly from section to section of the bar, transitioning seamlessly from taking orders and charging credit cards to making Bloody Marys and mimosas. When he came back to her she ordered eggs Benedict, hoping a treat would make her feel optimistic about the rest of the day.

A man sitting on a nearby stool got up to go and he brushed up against her, putting a hand on her bare leg in the process. The touch of his skin against hers made her jump, but when she looked at the man expecting an apology, he looked at her as if he’d done nothing wrong, a smug grin on his face as he turned to go.

“Seriously?” she called after him.

He stopped, pivoted. He leaned into her, his face close enough to kiss her if he wanted. He put his hand on her shoulder, traced small loops on her skin with his finger. He rubbed his lips together before straightening again. “Someone should teach you some manners. You’re lucky I’ve got someplace to be, but maybe I’ll see you later,” he said, then walked away.