Aaron
The bar is quieter than I expected for a Friday night. The low hum of muted conversations blends with the occasional clink of glasses and the faint strains of a blues melody drifting from a jukebox in the corner. The place feels oddly intimate, like it’s holding secrets, and maybe that’s why she chose it. Or maybe that’s just me, projecting my unease into every corner of this room. My thoughts are tangled, my nerves frayed, and each step I take toward the corner booth feels heavier than the last.
She’s already there. Penelope. Sitting like she owns the place, legs crossed, her dark hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. The red dress she’s wearing is a deliberate choice—of that, I’m certain. It hugs her figure perfectly, a reminder of all the times she used to wear it ba
