Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8TR760VFYGWR0Y7RPJ6ECW

Run Details

Model:: Claude Opus 4.6 (Reasoning)
Test:: Write N of X
Scenario:: 50 sentence summary
Duration:: 28.9s
Cost:: $0.069360
Provider:: Amazon Bedrock

Evaluation summary

Score	Evaluator	Details Link
100.00%	Matches sentence count	(details)

Model input

User/Human

Summarize the following text into exactly 50 sentences, only return the summary itself:

Jack Harper's fingers drummed against the polished bar top, the rhythm a stark contrast to the lazy steel drum music floating through the air. The salty breeze ruffled his meticulously styled hair, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and grilled seafood. Sunset Cove was a far cry from Wall Street, and his body knew it. His shoulders, usually tight with the weight of million-dollar deals, didn't know what to do with this forced relaxation.

He glanced at his watch. 6:30 PM. In New York, he'd be heading into a late meeting, not... whatever this was.

"Another scotch. Neat."

A melodic laugh floated over the bar noise. "Rough day at the beach?"

Jack's head snapped up, his gaze colliding with a pair of eyes that put the tropical waters to shame. The bartender's lips curved in amusement, a stark contrast to the judgmental stares he was accustomed to in New York.

"I don't see how anyone gets any work done around here."

"That's the point." She slid the scotch towards him, her movements fluid and unhurried. "We don't."

Jack's fingers closed around the glass, but he didn't lift it. "Some of us have empires to build."

"And some of us are happy with sandcastles." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The scent of vanilla and sea salt enveloped him. "They're more fun to knock down anyway."

A reluctant smile tugged at Jack's lips. His gaze dropped to her name tag. "Sandy, right?"

"Good eye, Mr..."

"Harper. Jack Harper."

"Well, Mr. Harper, what brings a suit like you to our little slice of paradise? You stick out like a penguin at a flamingo party."

Jack loosened his tie, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look. "Business. Though I'm starting to question my CEO's choice of location for our corporate retreat."

Sandy grabbed a pineapple from a nearby fruit bowl, spinning it in her hands like a basketball. "Let me guess. You're more of a concrete jungle type? All go, no slow?"

"The numbers don't lie. Time is money, and this place..." He waved his hand at the laid-back patrons, the swaying palm trees, the endless stretch of golden sand visible through the open-air bar. A pair of surfers trudged past, boards under their arms, laughing about something he couldn't hear. "It's a productivity black hole."

Sandy's eyebrow arched, a challenge sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you're looking at the wrong numbers."

"Excuse me?"

She set the pineapple down and gestured towards the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, its light dancing off the waves. "How much would you pay for that view in New York?"

Jack's gaze followed her hand, lingering on the breathtaking canvas nature had laid out. *Damn*. "Point taken."

"So, Jack Harper, master of the universe, what's your grand plan for Sunset Cove domination? Going to turn our little tiki bars into high-rises?"

He chuckled, surprised by how easily she drew him in. There was something about her – a spark, a quick wit that both challenged and intrigued him. "Would you believe me if I said I was here to destroy your quaint little town and build a mega-resort?"

Sandy's eyes widened in mock horror. She pressed a hand to her chest, her expression comically aghast. "You monster. And here I thought you were just another handsome face in an overpriced suit."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head. We get all types here." She grabbed a cocktail shaker, her hands moving with practiced ease as she mixed a drink for another customer. "Last week we had a guy who thought he was a mermaid. Now *that* was a look."

Jack leaned in, mirroring her earlier movement. The bar's bamboo edge dug into his stomach, but he barely noticed. "And what type am I?"

Sandy paused, studying him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "The kind that needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe." She reached out, her fingers brushing his collar. Jack froze, caught off guard by the casual intimacy. "You've got a bit of New York still clinging to you. Might want to dust that off if you plan on surviving here."

Their eyes locked, a challenge sparked between them. Jack felt a flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with the scotch. For a moment, the bar faded away. The music, the laughter, the crash of waves on the shore – it all became white noise.

A loud crash from the other end of the bar shattered the moment. Sandy straightened, professional mask sliding back into place. "Duty calls. Looks like someone's had a few too many Mai Tais."

"Wait-" Jack started, not ready for the conversation to end.

Sandy glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Try not to work too hard, Mr. Harper. You might accidentally enjoy yourself."

She sauntered away, navigating the crowded bar with ease. Jack watched her go, drawn to the confidence in her stride, the way other patrons lit up as she passed.

*What the hell just happened?*

He turned back to the bar, catching his reflection in the mirrored backsplash. His tie hung loose, his usually perfectly coiffed hair tousled by the sea breeze. He hardly recognized himself.

His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A message from Marcus flashed on the screen: "Update on the Sinclair account? Don't forget why you're there, Harper."

Reality came crashing back. Jack downed the rest of his scotch, the expensive liquor wasted on his suddenly dry throat. He stood, straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair.

*Focus, Harper. You're not here to flirt with bartenders.*

But as he walked out, the warm wood of the deck creaking under his polished shoes, he couldn't help glancing back. Sandy stood behind the bar, laughing at something a customer said. The fading sunlight caught her hair, turning it to spun gold.

*This could be a problem.*

The ocean breeze hit him as he stepped onto the beach, carrying away the last notes of the bar's music. Jack paused, his shoes sinking slightly into the sand. To his left, the neatly manicured path led back to the resort – back to his laptop, his reports, his familiar world of numbers and deals.

To his right, the beach stretched out, wild and inviting. A few people lingered, silhouetted against the darkening sky. A couple walked hand in hand at the water's edge. A child's delighted shriek carried on the wind as they chased the retreating waves.

Jack's phone buzzed again. Another message from Marcus.

He looked back at the Tiki Hut. Through the windows, he could just make out Sandy's profile as she mixed another drink.

*Get it together, Harper. Eyes on the prize.*

With a final glance at the sunset, Jack turned left, his shoes leaving perfectly formed imprints in the sand as he headed back to his room. But even as he walked away, he could still hear Sandy's laugh, could still feel the ghost of her fingers against his collar.

Sunset Cove, it seemed, had more to offer than he'd bargained for.

Model response

Jack Harper sits at a bar in Sunset Cove, drumming his fingers on the polished bar top while steel drum music plays.
The salty breeze and tropical atmosphere are a stark contrast to his usual Wall Street environment.
His shoulders, normally tense from high-stakes deals, feel awkward with the forced relaxation.
He checks his watch and notes it is 6:30 PM, a time he would normally be heading into a late meeting in New York.
He orders another scotch, neat.
A melodic laugh interrupts him, and the bartender asks if he's had a rough day at the beach.
Jack looks up to find a woman with striking eyes and an amused smile.
He complains that he doesn't see how anyone gets work done in such a place.
The bartender tells him that not working is exactly the point of Sunset Cove.
Jack insists that some people have empires to build.
She counters that some people are happy building sandcastles, adding they're more fun to knock down.
Her scent of vanilla and sea salt envelops him as she leans in conspiratorially.
A reluctant smile crosses Jack's face, and he reads her name tag: Sandy.
She asks what brings a suit like him to their paradise, saying he sticks out like a penguin at a flamingo party.
Jack loosens his tie and explains he's there for a corporate retreat, questioning his CEO's choice of location.
Sandy playfully guesses he's a concrete jungle type who is all go and no slow.
Jack dismisses the laid-back surroundings as a productivity black hole, gesturing at the patrons, palm trees, and surfers.
Sandy challenges him, suggesting he might be looking at the wrong numbers.
She points to the stunning sunset over the horizon and asks how much that view would cost in New York.
Jack gazes at the breathtaking sky painted in oranges and pinks and concedes her point.
Sandy teasingly asks if he plans to turn their tiki bars into high-rises.
Jack jokes that he's there to destroy her quaint town and build a mega-resort.
Sandy reacts with mock horror, calling him a monster but also slipping in that he's handsome.
Jack latches onto the compliment, and Sandy deflects by saying they get all types at the bar.
She mentions that a man who thought he was a mermaid visited the previous week.
Jack leans in and asks what type she thinks he is.
Sandy studies him intently and says he's the kind who needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe.
She reaches out and brushes his collar, telling him he still has New York clinging to him.
Their eyes lock, and a charged moment passes between them as the bar fades into background noise.
Jack feels a flutter in his chest that has nothing to do with the scotch.
A loud crash at the other end of the bar breaks the spell between them.
Sandy slips back into her professional role, noting someone has had too many Mai Tais.
Jack tries to stop her from leaving, not wanting the conversation to end.
She glances back with a mischievous look and tells him not to work too hard, lest he accidentally enjoy himself.
Sandy saunters away through the crowded bar, and Jack watches her go, drawn to her confidence.
He catches his reflection in the mirrored backsplash and barely recognizes himself with his loose tie and tousled hair.
His phone buzzes with a message from Marcus asking for an update on the Sinclair account.
The message reminds him of the real reason he is in Sunset Cove.
Jack downs his scotch and stands, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair back into place.
He tells himself to focus and stop flirting with bartenders.
As he walks out, he glances back and sees Sandy laughing behind the bar, her hair turned to gold by the fading sunlight.
He acknowledges to himself that she could be a problem.
Stepping onto the beach, the ocean breeze carries away the last notes of the bar's music.
To his left, a manicured path leads back to the resort and his familiar world of laptops, reports, and deals.
To his right, the wild beach stretches out with couples walking and children playing at the water's edge.
His phone buzzes again with another message from Marcus.
He looks back at the Tiki Hut and can just make out Sandy's profile as she mixes a drink.
He tells himself to keep his eyes on the prize.
Jack turns left toward the resort, his shoes leaving imprints in the sand, but he can still hear Sandy's laugh and feel the ghost of her fingers on his collar.
Sunset Cove, it seems, has more to offer him than he had bargained for.

Evaluation details

Result

Evaluator

Details

Meta Data

100.00%

Matches sentence count

n/a

neededClean	false
sentences	50