Jessica's lips pursed, her eyes narrowing even further as she took deliberate steps in Shantel's direction.
"Is anything the matter," her companion asked.
"Hmph," she murmured, her gaze still locked on Shantel. "Something about her is… familiar."
She tilted her head, squinting subtly, trying to pierce through the soft mask, the warm-toned hair and the elegant bone structure.
For a split second as she got closer, Jessica caught a fleeting resemblance from the soft curve of cheek to the tilt of her mouth when she seemed to have politely declined what looked like a gentleman's request to dance.
But it didn't stick, because Jessica Hale wasn't searching for this person.
She was still stuck in the image of her ten-year-old daughter who had left to stay with her grandmother with a scraped knee and fire in her voice.
