Page 119 of The Sweet Spot

“Full-time.”

“But you love New York!”

“New York’s not going anywhere,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “I travel all the time, anyway. I can go back whenever I feel like it.” He glances at me. “I just think I should be closer to you.”

“And my mom.” I waggle my eyebrows.

He cracks a grin. “And your mom. But mostly you.”

“We could pet-sit whenever you go out of town,” I say, warming to the idea. “Pamplemousse and Melvin wouldn’t have to go to the boarders anymore.”

“That’s true.” He nods, smiling. “And I’m sure Melvin will love the beach. I think it’ll be a good thing. I’ve needed a change for a while.”

“Mom would say the universe has brought all of this together in your favor, then.” I narrow my eyes. “You guys have been discussing this, haven’t you? I know you two like your late-night phone calls.”

Arlo snorts. “We may have talked about it once or twice.”

We spend two days in Monteverde, exploring and, of course, photographing the magical cloud forests. The Cloud Forest Reserve is actually a rainforest, but the constant mist makes it feel like we’re in the clouds. I can see why it was on Arlo’s must-see list for me. I probably take five photos for his every one, and he takes a lot.

And then we’re back on the coast, in a cute little village called Samara.

After staying the night at a hotel that’s literally on the beach, we grab breakfast and eat on the sand, watching little kids play on the shore. Kind of like home, especially when a couple of surfers jog past with boards beneath their arms. I watch them, my heart aching at who they remind me of.

“So, what’s the story with this place?” I ask, tucking into my bowl of gallo pinto. It’s a delicious mishmash of rice and beans, plantains, eggs, and meat.

Arlo takes a sip of water. “What do you mean?”

“Well, every place you’ve chosen has had some sort of significance to you so far.”

“Ah.” He nods, picking up his own bowl. “I’ve actually never been to Samara before, but it was one of the closer beaches, coming out of Monteverde. And there’s a surf school here. I thought we could practice a little…waves are small. Good for beginners.”

I glance back at the beach shack I noticed as we walked in earlier, colorful rows of surfboards lined up against it. “That sounds really fun.”

“I thought so, too.” He winks, and I grin out at the ocean, where sunlight sparkles off the waves.

After cleaning up our breakfast mess, we take a dip in the warm water. I take a few pictures with my phone and send them back to Mom and Saira, both of whom have been following our journey from across the miles. Which reminds me…

“I should probably send those postcards,” I say, brushing sand from our blanket. “I need stamps.”

Arlo gets to his feet, thumbs flying across his phone as he texts someone. “I’m sure the gift shop has some,” he says, distracted. “I’m going to go check in at the surf school, see if anyone’s available to help us out. Be right back.”

I drop onto my towel and lie back, enjoying the warmth of the sun. The distant call of birds, kids laughing, and the constant push and pull of water at the shore are such familiar sounds. While this beach is nothing like the ones I grew up on, it makes me the tiniest bit homesick.

I’m glad. It’s nice to know I’m going back to a place I love, a place I want to be. After so many years of feeling stuck in Santa Cruz, I’ve finally gotten the chance to miss it.

The sun beats down on me. Droplets of sweat form between my breasts, running down as I sit up. Shading my eyes with my hand, I peer over at the beach shack. There are a couple of people chatting near it, but no Arlo.

And then a tall, built guy in board shorts makes his way across the sand, a yellow surfboard tucked beneath each arm. My heart skips a beat. Hereminds me so much of Luca.

Wait. ItisLuca.

I freeze, gaping in disbelief as he stops in front of me. Putting the boards down, he sits beside me on the blanket with a tentative smile. “Hey, Wren.”

I shake my head. “What are you doing here? Did…did Arlo put you up to this?”

“Actually, it was the other way around.” He looks out at the water, sheepish. “I asked him if I could come. Begged.”

I stare at his profile, hope and frustration warring within me. Luca always looks even better than I remembered. Today he’s darker than he’s ever been, his skin a rich golden brown that makes his eyes seem even lighter. His hair, loose today, looks lighter as well, like he’s been spending a lot of time in the sun. God, he’s beautiful. He was mine once. Maybe he still is.

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