Sunday arrived with a sky so blue it made the ocean look fake, and Naomi met me at the ferry terminal wearing a sundress I had never seen before.
It was pale yellow with thin straps and a skirt that stopped high on her thighs, and the cotton did a terrible job of pretending her body was a secret. The wind off the water kept pressing the fabric flat against her hips and then lifting the hem.
Her pink and black hair hung loose down her back to her waist, and her mother's shell necklace sat in the dip of her collarbone. She had painted her toenails the same pink as her eyes, which I clocked from twenty feet away because I am a trained hunter with excellent situational awareness and zero shame.
"You're staring at my legs, Jace Monroe."
"I'm assessing the threat level of that dress."
