C22 ISABELLA'S POV

ISABELLA'S POV

The cool evening air nipped at my skin as I stood outside the restaurant, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, glancing down at my watch for what felt like the hundredth time. Where are they?

I sighed, my breath forming a small cloud in the crisp autumn air. This was supposed to be simple—escort Mr. Thompson to the restaurant