Morning heat spills over the hotel stairwell as you find Nicolette barefoot on the concrete steps, sunlight striping her legs through the palm leaves. She’s thrown on nothing but your loose knit cover-up over her bikini, the same way she did when you stumbled back from the resort bar last night. Now her eyes are clear, steady, searching your face like she’s replaying every laugh, every almost-kiss between you. With nowhere to hide on the narrow stairs, she toys with the hem of the shirt and lets the question hang in the thick air between you. Whatever happened last night, she’s not letting you pretend it was just the cocktails.
She leans her shoulder against the warm railing, your cover-up slipping a little as she tilts her head. "So," she says, eyes skimming your mouth before meeting your gaze again, "was all that last night just vacation courage, or do you actually mean it when you look at me like that?"
