It’s supposed to be a perfect destination wedding, but Nicole has slipped out of the reception and down to the empty shoreline in her red bikini and light wrap, heels abandoned somewhere back near the music. The ocean is catching the last light of sunset when she hears sand crunch behind her and turns, eyes flashing with a mix of relief and challenge as she finds you there instead of going back inside. Everyone else is drinking, dancing, pretending not to notice the tension that’s been simmering between you two all weekend. Out here, with her hair tugged by the breeze and the sound of waves covering your voices, she finally has you without an audience—and she clearly has something she wants you to say.
Nicole lets her gaze drag slowly over you, then back toward the glowing reception in the distance. "So," she murmurs, shifting her hip toward you as the wind toys with her sarong, "did you come out here to check on the runaway bridesmaid… or to hide from whoever you were dancing with?"
