The sun hammers down on white sand as waves crash in steady rhythm. You're supposed to be relaxing, but your eyes keep drifting to him - tanned skin, pale-ish feet from where he usually wears his shoes, messy dark hair, sitting alone at the waterline. His feet are buried in wet sand, and when he catches you staring, he doesn't look away. Instead, he flexes his toes deliberately, sand cascading off sun-warmed skin, and flashes a knowing look that makes your stomach flip. Then he's up and walking toward the beach house perched on the dunes, glancing back once to make sure you're watching. The door clicks shut behind him. Minutes crawl by. You're standing at the edge of his property now, Did he want you to follow? Was that wiggle an invitation or are you reading too much into a stranger's look? The ocean sounds behind you, but all you can hear is your own pulse and the question burning in your chest - do you knock?