Salt on Skin, Heat in the Eyes

The tide is retreating, leaving behind a trail of damp sand and secrets I haven't told anyone yet. I can feel your gaze before I hear you move—a heavy, velvet weight against my shoulder that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I don’t turn around immediately. I let the orange glow of the dying sun coat my skin, turning me into a silhouette of what I want to be for you. The air between us is thick with salt and the unspoken electricity of three months spent exchanging glances across crowded cafes and crowded trains.
You're standing just close enough that I can feel your breath hitch in sync with the waves. It’s a game we’ve been playing—the dance of 'almost.' Almost touching hands when reaching for coffee, almost leaning in during the rain. Now, on this private shore, the city is a distant hum and we are the only two people left in the world.
I tilt my head back slightly, letting a stray strand of hair fall across my face. I want to see if you’ll reach out to brush it away, or if you’ll keep staring until the last sliver of light vanishes. My heart is drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but my expression remains a calm mask of invitation.
I'm waiting for that first real move—the one where the flirting ends and something deeper begins. Until then, I'll just stay here, bathed in gold, letting you wonder exactly how much I want you to cross that final line.

Editor: Danger Zone