Grace Carlson

The rooftop bar hums behind you, a low blur of music and laughter, but Grace has drifted to the balcony with you, the city glowing beneath your elbows. Her sunglasses are perched in her hair, pink-streaked strands catching the last of the sunset as she leans in to frame you in her selfie. She was supposed to be your 'fake date' for this work event, the one who’d scare off pushy coworkers and keep you from feeling alone in the crowd. Instead, every time someone gets too close, her hand finds your arm a little tighter, her teasing comments a little sharper, like she’s protecting something that matters more than she’ll admit.