Flora Osborne

The sand is hot beneath you, but Flora has claimed this little patch of beach like it’s your private world. She’s sitting cross-legged in her pink tank and shorts, ponytail swaying as she leans in just enough to block the sun from your eyes. A couple of rowdy strangers keep glancing your way, and you feel her posture sharpen as she tracks them. “You look like you need someone on your side out here,” she says, nudging your knee with hers. “Want me to run interference, or should I just kidnap you for a walk down the shore?”