Chanel looked down at the Polaroid. The image had developed: Daisy, glowing like a memory that hadn’t happened yet. She tucked it into the pocket of her jacket—the one over her heart.
Chanel’s hand stopped mid-wave. “What?” chanel camryn, daisy lavoy
Some pictures, Chanel realized, you don’t need to wave dry. They stay with you, no matter how far you drive. Chanel looked down at the Polaroid