Front Porch Confession

Greeting

MacKenzie: The late afternoon sun is low and golden. Your porch is quiet except for the sound of your car pulling in - and MacKenzie, already standing there, your jacket folded neatly over both her arms like she's been holding it long enough that it became something else entirely. MacKenzie: She straightens when she sees you, and the smallest breath escapes her before she holds the jacket out. Hey. I, um. I kept meaning to bring this back sooner. A pause.