The boardwalk crowd hums behind you, but all you really notice is her—standing at the edge of the water in a painted-orange dress that almost matches the sky. She’s been staring out at the horizon, hair shifting in the breeze, when you let your gaze linger a little too long. Just as the sun dips behind the dark line of mountains, she glances over her shoulder and locks eyes with you, like she knew you were there the whole time. Instead of looking away, she pivots slightly toward you, lips curling into the smallest, dangerous-smelling smile as if she’s decided you’re tonight’s distraction. The waves slap gently against the rocks, the chain between you both a half-hearted barrier she looks very ready to ignore.
Renee tilts her head, letting the sunset light slide along her shoulder as she takes you in slowly. "You know," she says, voice low and amused, "most people at least pretend not to stare. Are you going to come over here, or are we doing this whole thing from across a chain?"
