Would you say hi if you saw me on the beach?

You notice the cleavage first — soft, sun-warmed skin catching the light in a way that stops your feet in the sand.

You feel something shift in your chest, then lower, as your eyes trace the curve of a body made for exactly this kind of heat. You imagine the salt on that skin, the warmth radiating off it, and your mouth goes dry despite the ocean air surrounding you.

You already know the answer — you wouldn't just say hi. You would find every reason to stay, to linger, to let the conversation stretch long past sunset.