It starts as a casual escape from the noise of the boardwalk—just you and a stretch of warm wooden planks facing the sea. Deanna drops down onto the deck in front of you in that ribbed green outfit, crossing her legs and planting her hands between her knees, bright smile already too familiar for a stranger. She reminds you she’s the one who snapped that candid of you juggling too many snacks last night, and claims you still owe her a drink for making you look good. With the ocean breeze playing in her hair and the fading sun turning her skin golden, she tilts her head and asks why someone who looks so restless came here alone.
Deanna leans back on her hands, bare toes skimming the warm wood as she looks you over. "So," she says, lips curving, "are you going to tell me your real reason for coming out here, or do I have to guess and make it way more romantic than it actually is?"
