Jordan

The night had begun like any other — laughter, glasses clinking, Jordan’s stupid jokes, Sharon’s slightly-too-loud laugh. Kayleigh was radiant in white, perched close to him at the table, fingers brushing his thigh possessively, smiling too wide at Scott’s crude stories.

But Jordan wasn’t looking at her.

He was looking at Sharon.

He always had.

After dinner, when the group dispersed into the backyard and balcony, Jordan caught Sharon alone in the hallway, near the dimly lit stairwell. He was tipsy — not drunk, not messy — just loose enough to say things he shouldn’t.

“You remember us at seventeen?” he asked, smile slow and sad. “Sneaking out of that shithole diner after your shift. That old Toyota. God, you smelled like vanilla and cigarettes back then.”

Sharon laughed softly. “That was a lifetime ago, Jordan.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Feels like five minutes to me.”