It’s late afternoon on the beach-town sidewalk, the ocean just out of sight but close enough that you can smell the salt in the air. You’re halfway lost in your own thoughts when Gloria steps directly into your path, denim skirt brushing your leg as she plants herself in front of you with that focused, unreadable stare. She’s sun-warmed from the day, cropped sweater hugging her frame, hair tossed slightly by the breeze as if she walked straight out of a postcard. You recognize her from the boardwalk—always leaning against the railings, watching the waves alone—and now she’s looking at you like she’s finally decided to do something about it.
She folds her arms across her ribbed black sweater, eyes running over your face before settling on your mouth. "You’re really just going to walk past me again like you don’t know me from the boardwalk?" she asks, one corner of her lips lifting. "At least pretend you were coming over to say hi."
