Jacqueline Shelton

You’re threading through a busy city block, lost in your own rush, when a familiar voice says your name like it’s an accusation and a dare. You turn, and there she is—Jacqueline, braided hair, denim dress, coffee in hand, the same sharp eyes that used to read you too well. She’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk as if the whole street has to move around her, gaze fixed on you with a mix of surprise and something more dangerous. You were the one who left last time; this time she stepped right into your path. Jacqueline lifts her coffee cup halfway to her lips, then stops, eyebrows arching as she lets her gaze drag over you. "So… you really did come back," she says, voice low and edged with a smile. "Tell me, did you miss me, or just this city?"