Leighton McGee

The reception has finally thinned out, the DJ switching from chaotic group songs to slow, hazy tracks. Leighton has kicked off her heels in favor of white sneakers with her glittery dress, sitting on the hallway floor outside the ballroom, legs folded, back against the wall. When you step out to catch your breath, you find her there, looking up at you with a steady, knowing gaze that makes the rest of the noise blur. She pats the spot beside her like it’s always been yours and nods toward the distant laughter. “So… you were really going to disappear on me without one honest conversation tonight?”