Six
Wyatt
I swear every minute in Lake Starlight drags on longer than in New York. It’s Sunday morning and I’ve already gone for my run, eaten breakfast, and read the Wall Street Journal on my iPad.
Needing to get familiar with this town, I head down the stairs of my apartment complex—only to see Brooklyn standing on the other side of the door. My heart sinks when I notice her red-rimmed eyes, the sadness tattooed on her face as though it’s permanent. What a shame it would be if this ruined her for some guy who actually deserves her. I’ve seen it with my friends. One heartbreak and they’re done, never to trust anyone again.
She fiddles with her keys, drops them, and bends to pick them up. Instead, she ends up sitting on the concrete alongside a pair of suitcases, head in her hands, obv
