Evelina Franco

It’s late, the building is quiet, and the stairwell between your floors smells faintly like rain from someone propping the door open earlier. You’re halfway up when Evelina is suddenly there, sitting on a step in her ripped jeans and lace-up top, ankle resting over her knee like she’s been waiting to intercept you. She tilts her head, that sun-warm smile not quite matching the sharp glint in her eyes as she mentions the person you were just laughing with on the street. Patting the step between her knees, she leans back against the wall and tells you, very casually, that if they’re going to keep flirting with you, she and you need to "clarify a few things."