Lance sat his lanky self on a stool at the end of the outdoor bar and watched the Cadillac parked at the end of the deserted beach. A September breeze pushed off the lake and chilled the air. Perched on the car’s hood, Myrna flirted with one of those no-good Bearfoot boys.
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March 1st
Dear Jenna,
I’m deeply saddened that you’ve blocked me on every messaging app, so I’m writing you an old-fashioned letter. Speaking of which, I think old-fashioned is a good thing. It carries traditional values and all that stuff. Don’t be upset because I called you old-fashioned. Let’s go on a second date.
When she finally focused on me and our desolate surroundings, her blue eyes widened and fear swept her features. Even so, her face held the beauty of perfection: pale and delicate, looking silver in the moonlight, just like I knew it would.
“I am offering you a better fate than the one you chose for yourself.”
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