She isn’t smiling.
My pace changes. Slows. Sharpens.
She senses movement before she sees me, because her shoulders go rigid.
The guy turns. His eyes land on me. Recognition sparks.
“No way.” He laughs like this is fate playing a joke. “Bryce Blackhorn?”
I stare, digging through years I don’t bother remembering.
He waits, expecting the connection.
Then it hits.
“Lakeview summer baseball camp,” he says, giving my shoulder a friendly tap like we’re old buddies.
I don’t move.
Annabelle blinks at both of us. “You two know each other?”
“Oh yeah,” he says casually. “Back when Bryce here thought sliding into bases face-first made him look hardcore.”
“It worked,” I would normally say, but I don't.
I don’t give him the satisfaction.
He looks me over again, smirk returning.
“Guess some things never change. Still trying to impress people with reckless moves.”
"Careful, Cummings."
My jaw flexes, but I stay nothing more. Quiet hits harder.
Annabelle steps in like she wants this over. “We’re done talking. Goodnight.”
His expression tightens for the first time. Not defeated. Just annoyed he didn’t get the last word.
“Sure,” he says, voice smooth. “But we’re not finished.”
He walks past me, brushing my shoulder like he’s testing boundaries.
Wrong move.
I turn just enough for him to hear me.
“Walk away.”
He does. But slowly.
Annabelle releases a breath like she’s been holding it forever. She turns to leave. I stop her with one low question. "How do you know him?"
She freezes, shoulders tight. "Mark is my ex-fiancé. We broke up right before I came here."
I speak before she gets two steps.
“If he keeps showing up, I’m not staying quiet.”
