“No.”
“So,” Leo said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “What’s the script?”
He was just gone.
Leo was neither. He was the ex-boyfriend she’d ghosted the week her second channel hit a million subs. The one she’d left with a single text: “This isn’t working. You’re not in the brand.”
Then he stepped back, pulled the hoodie over his head—the one she loved—and tossed it onto the candle. The flame caught the fleece. For one beautiful second, the set filled with orange light and the smell of burning polyester.
“No.”
“So,” Leo said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “What’s the script?”
He was just gone.
Leo was neither. He was the ex-boyfriend she’d ghosted the week her second channel hit a million subs. The one she’d left with a single text: “This isn’t working. You’re not in the brand.”
Then he stepped back, pulled the hoodie over his head—the one she loved—and tossed it onto the candle. The flame caught the fleece. For one beautiful second, the set filled with orange light and the smell of burning polyester.
