There was something about that little crook in his nose. It looked so much like the same one Colt had after taking a baseball to the face when we were six. There were other things that resembled Colt, too. Or what I imagined my best friend would look like now, my mind filling in the empty spaces that eight years without a glimpse or word had left. I blinked again as the guy disappeared from sight. As I did, the memory of the figure suddenly didn’t look quite like what I had thought. His shoulders were too broad, his hair too dark.
Colt—best friend/grew up together until her dad died when 9y/o, his dad & her dad were best friends, hair mixture of brown, blonde, & red, crooked nose where hit with baseball when 6y/o, unique hazel eyes mix of green with flecks of gold & other tones, broad shoulders encased in muscles, had tingles when held hands as children, calls her LeeLee, 6’4, same lopsided grin
