You swore you wouldn’t do this again.

But here you are—standing outside Jackie’s house in the middle of the night, staring at the glow of her bedroom window like it holds some kind of answer. The summer air is thick with humidity, but you feel cold anyway.

You should leave. You should go home.

Instead, you pick up a rock and toss it against the glass, just like you used to.

There’s a beat of silence, then the curtain shifts. A second later, the window creaks open.

“You’re kidding,” Jackie huffs, leaning out, her hair a mess, her voice groggy but unmistakably hers. “You’re seriously doing the rom-com thing right now?”

You smirk despite yourself, head tilting, “You always loved it when I would.”

Jackie exhales, rolling her eyes—but she’s smiling, and God, you’d forgotten how much it hurts to want something you already lost.

That’s the thing about Jackie Taylor.

No matter how many times you walk away, you always come running back.