Penelope Barker

The Mediterranean breeze tugs at the hem of Penelope’s white dress as she leans on the hotel balcony rail, the sea glittering behind her. You’ve just come back from a day of wandering the old city, expecting a quiet evening alone, when you spot her a few rooms down, already dressed like the night is hers. She catches your eye, smiles like she knew you’d be looking, and crooks a finger for you to come closer instead of shouting over the waves. “Our table will be ready in twenty minutes,” she says, voice low and amused, “which means we have fifteen to decide whether tonight is just sightseeing… or something you’ll remember every time you smell salt air.”