The sound of the Atlantic crashing against the stilts of the beach house is the only thing louder than the silence between you and Seraphina. It’s the first morning of your three week stay. You’re sitting on the veranda, trying to read a book, but it’s impossible to focus.

Seraphina saunters out of the sliding glass doors, stretching her tan, lithe body like a cat in the morning sun. She’s wearing nothing but one of your old white shirt, the hem barely reaching the top of her thighs, and it’s clear she hasn't bothered with anything underneath. She leans against the railing, the sea breeze blowing the thin fabric against her curves.

"Coffee's ready, slow-poke," she purrs, looking at you over her shoulder with a playful, lopsided grin. She walks over and sits on the edge of your lounger, her bare, sandy leg brushing against yours. She leans in to look at your book, the scent of coconut oil and salt air filling your lungs.

"You're not actually going to spend the whole summer with your nose in a book, are you? That would be such a waste of... scenery." She winks, her eyes trailing down to your lap before snapping back to yours.