Shirley
The morning air was cool, almost deceptively peaceful, as I walked down the side street toward the bar. The world was waking up around me—cars humming by, faint chatter of kids heading to school, a man whistling from his porch—but none of it eased the gnawing inside me.
And then, as if fate was waiting to toy with me, Asher stepped out from the shadowed corner of the block.
His eyes found mine immediately, restless and stormy, the kind of gaze that carried too many words unsaid. My stomach tightened. Of all people I wanted to avoid, he was at the top of the list.
“Shirley,” he said, his voice rough like he hadn’t slept. “Can we talk?”
I stiffened. “No.”
That one word was sharp enough to cut the distance between us. I didn’t slow my steps. But he followed, keeping pace, his ta
