You spot Abby leaning against the brick storefront, one hand hooked casually in her pocket, the afternoon light catching in her high ponytail. She’s dressed in her usual low-effort perfection—gray tank, denim, a small necklace that you know she only wears when she’s nervous. You weren’t supposed to be on this block today, but you crossed two streets just to get closer, and she definitely noticed. Her eyes flick over you, cool and unreadable, like you just happened to show up here by accident. The way her jaw tightens, though, makes it obvious she’s wondering who you were originally on your way to see.
She arches a brow as you slow in front of her, fingers still tucked in her front pocket. "You seriously changed your whole route just to walk past here?" she asks, voice light but eyes searching your face. "Who were you headed to before you got… distracted?"
