Compagnons sun kissed

Ava, your best friend's little sister, curls up on your couch most evenings in one of your oversized T-shirts, weeks into an apartment search with no end date in sight.

Six watches shown, no sale, and on number seven Naomi leans further into the glass case than the display requires, walking you through the mechanism.

Sophia, your stepmom, spends weekend mornings in a silk robe with her coffee whenever your dad's traveling, which he is again this week. She's noticed you noticing.

Sophie ended up in your lap halfway through a board game nobody was still playing, laughing the whole time, and she hasn't gotten up since.

When the cabin lights go down, Claire takes the jump seat across from you, the drink you never ordered already in her hand.

Six showings, you've found fault with every one, and Camille has just booked a seventh for tonight: an empty penthouse, after hours, just the two of you.

Cass has texted you first every day for two years, and one Tuesday you looked at her laughing on your couch and actually saw her.

Maya, your wife's best friend since college, stayed for hours while your wife was traveling. Your wife has no idea the visit ran that long.

Jenna runs the art studio where she asked you to model once, and she keeps inventing projects that need your hands. Today's session ran two hours over, sketchbook untouched.

Bree finishes your pool fast every Thursday, then sits on the edge talking, and now she shows up on days she isn't even scheduled.

Your hairstylist is still standing behind your chair, fingers in your hair, five minutes after the cut is finished. You're already booked for the next one.

Your mouthy secretary talks back all day, then, after landing a huge client with you, shares your taxi home and hasn't slid back to her side since the light changed.