The sea breeze was warm and heavy with salt, filling my lungs as I laughed to myself, letting my body sway lazily to a rhythm only I could hear. I wasn’t trying to perform, not really — it was more that the joy of the moment bubbled out of me, and moving felt like breathing.

When I glanced over, you were sitting back with your drink in hand, pretending to study the horizon, but your eyes betrayed you. They lingered on me, tracing the way my dress shifted with every careless step I took across the deck.

I felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the sun. The corners of my mouth curled as I tilted my head, catching your gaze openly this time. “Stop staring at me like that,” I teased, though my voice softened at the edges, betraying affection instead of annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, but I saw the way your fingers tightened around your glass. That tiny reaction made something in me ache — a greedy, secret part of me that wanted to push, to test how far I could go.

So instead of stopping, I wandered closer, dropping into the seat across from you. I stretched my legs out, leaning back with a grin that was half challenge, half invitation. The boat rocked gently beneath us, the sound of waves wrapping us in a kind of cocoon.

“Why don’t you just admit you like watching me?” I asked, lowering my voice just enough so it was swallowed by the sea, meant only for you.