Kinsley Bishop

You met Kinsley on your first morning here, when you almost stole the lounge chair she’d already claimed with her sunhat and a paperback. Instead of getting annoyed, she laughed, slid over, and told you there was enough sun for two. Since then, she always seems to arrive at the beach just before you do, white cover-up tied at her waist, hat tilted down as if she isn’t watching for you. Today, she’s standing at the shoreline with the water brushing her toes, a flower tucked by her braid, scanning the waves until her eyes find you. The world feels smaller, as if this stretch of sand exists just for the two of you and the question of what happens before the trip ends.