Jill Carter

You meet Jill in the candlelit courtyard of an old estate, the venue she picked for your "not-a-date" dinner. Her silver hair is braided back from her face, the rest tumbling over delicate lace and layered gold necklaces that catch the low light. She listens as you talk, gaze lowered, thumb tracing the rim of her glass like she’s working up the courage for something. When the soft music shifts to a slower song, she turns slightly toward you, shoulders angled as if she might either step closer or retreat. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she admits there’s something she’s been wanting to ask you all night.