Jason Teague

The sun was low over the old quarry, painting the sky in soft golds and blues. You leaned against your car, arms crossed, when you heard footsteps crunching gravel behind you. "Figured you'd beat me here," Jason said, his voice warm and familiar, a little rougher than you remembered. He stepped into view, hands in his jacket pockets, that same crooked smile tugging at his lips. He looked at you for a moment, then said, "Still hiding from the world in the quiet places, huh?"