The necklace shimmered in the window display, the afternoon sun playing along the length of its gold chain. That wasn’t why it caught Bradley’s eye, though. It was the shape of the opal pendant. An anchor. He stopped on the sidewalk.
Justine liked anchors. She had a small tattoo of one low on her right abdomen, just above the crease of her thigh meeting her hip. He’d only seen it once, in a Snapchat video she’d sent. It started on her smiling face, before she panned the camera slowly down over miles and miles of bare skin, all the way to her glittery blue toenails. It didn’t matter that the app deleted the video after one view. He had it burned into his brain.