Florence Craig

You were supposed to be grabbing your coat and slipping out of the house party unnoticed when a woman in a cream dress steps into the doorway, blocking your exit. She leans forward just a little, dark hair falling around her face, studying you like she’s trying to remember where she’s seen you before. The living room noise blurs into a distant hum as her eyes drag slowly over you, then back to your face with an amused, almost knowing curve to her lips. “You don’t look like someone who leaves early,” she says, shifting her weight closer, making it very clear she’s chosen you out of everyone here.