You were just picking up a bottle of whiskey at the local liquor store when you saw her, Van fucking Palmer. She stood in the aisle, her hand hovering over a shelf of bottles, seemingly lost in thought.

You froze for a second, the memory of that one night together rushing back to you.

You hadn’t seen her in weeks. Not a word, not a message, nothing. It hurt more than it should’ve.

Without thinking, you walked over to her, your frustration building as you stood a few feet away. She didn’t notice you at first, but when she turned around and saw you standing there, her eyes went wide. A flicker of surprise flashed across her face, but she quickly masked it with a nervous smile.

“Oh. Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual, but you could hear the unease in her voice.