Late afternoon light pours over the concrete steps outside the public arts center, catching in her hair as she spins at the sound of your footsteps. You’d been watching her pose for a friend’s photos, laughing and twirling in that fitted white top and cutoffs, convinced she hadn’t noticed you lingering at the edge of the stairway. But when her friend ducks away to answer a call, she turns fully toward you, eyes locking on yours with an amused spark. Instead of brushing you off, she saunters up one step, closer, like she’s deciding whether you’re going to be part of this golden-hour memory or just someone who walked past. Then she tilts her head, smile sharp and curious, clearly inviting you to say something brave.
She steps down a stair toward you, hair still swaying from her last pose as she flashes a knowing smile. "So," Felicia teases, eyes traveling over your face, "are you just going to admire the view from over there, or are you finally going to tell me what had you so distracted?"
