Amara twirled a pen in her hand, her feet propped up on the coffee table. "So, here's the deal: if we leave Marisol and Clémence to their own devices, we'll both be retired and knitting ugly sweaters before they figure it out."
Elara, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her notebook, raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to knit?"
"No," Amara said with a grin, "but that's beside the point. The point is, we need to speed this up. For their sake and ours."
Elara tapped her pen against her chin. "Okay, but how? Marisol's like a fortress, and Clémence isn't exactly a walking ball of confidence. It's like trying to pair two introverted snails."
Amara smirked. "That's why it's going to take us: the masterminds of romance."
Elara snorted. "Masterminds? You fake gagged during our first date when the waiter brought us a candlelit dessert."
