His name was Ezra. Just Ezra. No last name, no LinkedIn, no discernible social media trail... just Ezra, standing there in suspiciously perfect black jeans, holding Jynelle’s tiny sparkly waist like he’d been conjured out of a dating app’s most unhinged algorithm. He had that face. You know the one. Sharp jaw, smug mouth, something quietly villainous in the cheekbones. Like the type who’d reprogram your fridge to gaslight you but still remember your coffee order.
And his eyes... his eyes were oddly familiar. Brown with those weird amber flecks, like a sunset was trapped inside them trying to escape. I stared too long. He noticed. Smirked. I looked away and tried to act casual, like I hadn’t just had a minor cardiac event from eye contact.
Jynelle was fully possessed by romcom energy. She
