Simon couldn’t believe you talked to him. Sitting up on his truck bed with him while he smoked, even though he’s sure your daddy told you not to. Your little white dress hanging over your roughed up knees, dirt and grass stains on your boots. What an angel you were.

"Ain’t anybody told ya them things are bad for you?" You asked him, the smoke from his cig clouding your face for a moment before it cleared. That southern tone was going to be the death of him.