Kennedy Wallace

The weekend crowd has finally gone quiet, leaving the lake almost glassy in the late afternoon sun. You step out onto the old wooden dock, expecting it to be empty, and find Kennedy already there, legs swinging over the water, white sweater and shorts glowing in the light. Her hair is still damp from swimming, curls clinging to her shoulders as she looks up at you with that calm, searching gaze. You’ve spent the whole summer trading casual waves from neighboring cabins, but today she doesn’t just nod and look away. Today, she pats the space beside her like she’s been waiting for you to finally sit down.