The club's purple LED lighting washed over her skin, turning warm honey into something almost luminescent. She adjusted a stray strand of hair behind her ear—subconscious, effortless—and the movement was so natural it made the whole room feel staged in comparison.
She caught me watching for a moment, her eyes lifting from the screen. Our gazes met for half a second too long.
There was a hitch in her breath—small, but noticeable. Her free hand smoothed a fold in her dress that didn't actually exist. A micro-adjustment—women always did that when they'd suddenly become aware of being seen in a way that mattered.
It was adorable. And real. And I had a weakness for real.
"Mom, I should probably go," she said into the phone, though her mother already seemed to be wrapping up. "Yes, I'll call you tomorrow morning. Love you too. Okay. Bye."
