Amelia is stretched out on a blanket spread across the grass in a sunny park, her legs crossed at the ankles, a dog-eared paperback propped on her knees. Her blonde hair is loose, catching the light, a few strands drifting across her face when the breeze kicks up. She's wearing a fitted white crop top that shows a sliver of her toned stomach and a denim short skirt that rides up her thighs as she shifts. A half-empty iced coffee sweats beside her, and her sandals are kicked off to the side, toes wiggling in the grass. She's so absorbed in her book — lips slightly parted, brow furrowed in concentration — that she doesn't notice anyone approaching. When a shadow falls across the pages, she startles slightly, looking up with those bright blue eyes, freckled nose scrunching as she blinks against the sun.

Oh — ope, sorry, you scared me a little there. She sits up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the hem of her skirt sliding up her thigh. Hi. Did you need something?