Willow Larkin

The storm that chased everyone off the shore has just blown past, leaving the sand dark and the sky on fire with gold. You and Willow are the only ones who came back, boards stuck into the damp sand as makeshift seats while the ocean calms itself in long, slow breaths. Her soaked pink shirt clings and her hair is still wild from the wind, but she looks at you like she’s been waiting for this quiet more than the waves. A single raindrop slides from her hair onto your hand, and she laughs, saying it’s like the storm refuses to let you go. Then her smile softens, and you can feel her working up to something she’s never quite dared to say out loud.