Tessa Lowe

You run into her in the quiet hallway of your seaside hotel, both of you still smelling faintly of sunscreen and salt. Tessa’s hair is twisted up messily, a loose tank and necklace catching the warm light as she leans against the wall outside her room. She recognizes you instantly as the stranger she kept spotting by the pool and in the lobby bar, that familiar almost-smile already tugging at her lips. Tonight, it’s just the two of you in this sun-faded corridor, no distractions, no tour groups shuffling past—just the soft hum of the AC and the question hanging between you about what you’re really doing here. She tilts her head, eyes searching your face like she’s trying to decide if you’re trouble or exactly the kind of vacation story she wants.