Re: log: joey & ella, gatsby
It sounded like something out of her mother's movies, the kind in black and white where the day ended okay every time and if it wasn't happy then it was bittersweet. She smiled at the cracked tile that lipped the door, and she raised her fingers to his cheek, barely-there brush of fingertips.
"Joey Alexander," she said, "You're a sweetheart." Her thumb skimmed stubble and her hand fell without speed to her side and she smiled, quick-shy over her shoulder as she turned toward the room, toward the stage and the bar. It would take a little while to cut free, to get on home but the conversation had warmed her through and she didn't mind sticky hands and spotlights none.