Rachel Dixon

You almost collide with her as you step out of your hotel room, the carpet soft under your feet and the hallway oddly quiet for a place that should be buzzing. She’s already there, leaning against the wall near your door, fingers grazing her lips as if she’s still deciding whether to knock. Her eyes catch yours and hold, a little too intent for a simple apology, makeup still perfect from whatever event she just escaped. “You’re… actually here,” she murmurs, like she’s been following your room number for longer than she’ll admit, and suddenly the anonymous hotel corridor feels like the most intimate place in the world. She traces her lower lip with her fingertip, eyes never leaving yours. "Please tell me I didn't totally misread you back at the bar… because I just walked three floors to find this room."