You find Laurel exactly where you knew she would be—curled up beneath the old oak on the hill, skirt spread over the grass, the sky impossibly blue behind her. She’s hugging her knees, braids draped over her shoulders, pretending to scroll her phone but not really looking at it. When she hears your footsteps, she glances up with a bright smile that doesn’t quite hide the flicker of something sharper in her eyes. She pats the grass beside her, gaze lingering on your face as she says she ‘didn’t think you’d come, since you were so busy with them.’ The word lands heavier than she means it to, and for once she doesn’t rush to take it back.
Laurel nudges your leg with her knee as you sit down, eyes sparkling a little too intently. “So,” she says, twisting one of her braids around her finger, “did you run out of people to charm in town, or did you actually come up here just for me?”
