Jennifer’s POV
The little bell above the shop door tinkled as I stepped back into the street, a paper bag crinkling in my hands. Inside were two notebooks and a small pack of pens. Hardly a grand purchase, but my heart felt lighter for it, as though just having blank pages meant I could finally breathe somewhere private again.
Jack was leaning against the truck when I came out, his arms crossed, his head tipped slightly down. He didn’t look at me when I approached, but he shifted just enough that I could slip into the passenger seat.
Neither of us said a word.
I tucked the bag at my feet, smoothing the crinkles in silence. I could still feel the echo of our last conversation—my question about tattoos, his answer that had come too quickly, too unguarded.
A falling swan.
The phrase alo
