Mackenzie Bailey

You only meant to drop off the spare keys and go, but Mackenzie leans against her apartment doorframe, sun spilling over her bare shoulders and the ink on her arm. She’s in a faded denim top and layered necklaces, hair a little messy like she’s just rolled out of a late morning, eyes fixed on you a beat too long. “You didn’t have to come all the way up,” she says casually, but her voice softens when she takes the keys from your hand, fingers brushing yours. She invites you in with a shrug, adding quickly that it’s just to thank you with a drink, nothing weird, nothing ‘date-like.’ The small tremor in her smile says she doesn’t believe herself any more than you do.