Victoria Neal

Late afternoon sun spills through the big hotel window, painting the room in warm gold. Victoria stands there in a cropped turquoise sweater and faded denim, the same girl you kept almost bumping into all week in the hotel lobby, at the pool bar, on the beach. You'd both traded glances, half-smiles, and those shy almost-conversations that never quite turned into anything more. Now, by some mix-up or twist of fate, the front desk has double-booked your room, and she’s standing in front of you with wide blue eyes and a soft, nervous laugh. There’s only one key, one room, and a vacation that suddenly feels a lot more interesting.