Page 10 of The Last Sunrise

“Is that the sugar I smelled?” I ask.

He nods. “It’s similar to a croissant but much better,” he tells me, noticing my skepticism. “Have some. I didn’t poison it.”

“Ha. Ha.” I walk a little closer to him and reach my hand out, hunger getting the best of me. Bread and sugar? Who can pass that up, even from a stranger? Not me.

“Say ‘please,’ Miss America.” He grins, waving the pastry in front of me to taunt me.

I yank it from his hand, and the surprise on his face is more than satisfying.

I take a huge bite and—holy hell!—it melts in my mouth. It tastes like a croissant and a funnel cake had a delicious baby. I eat more and ignore the way he’s staring at me as I devour his food.

“Are you always this ravenous and steal people’s food?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice.

I nod my head. “Especially when I’m starving and in the sun for hours without eating.”

“Well, I’d say help yourself, but it’s gone now.” There’s a gleam in his eye that is way too charming, and I’ve had way too long of a day.

“You offered.” I shrug. “That’s what you get for being nice to an arrogant tourist.” I stick my tongue out, and his eyes narrow in amusement, like he’s studying a species he’s never encountered but is curious nonetheless.

“Are you still hungry?” he asks. “We eat dinner here much later than you’re probably used to. We could—” He stops himself mid-sentence and shakes his head. It seems to be a habit of his.

“Your hotel has room service,” he says coldly, retracting his offer before he even finishes the suggestion.

“Were you about to ask me to eat dinner with you?” I ask boldly.

“No. I was just… no. I wasn’t. Let’s walk.” He points straight ahead.

“Surrrrre.” I turn my back to him, slightly disappointed but aware of how out of character it would be for me to eat a meal with a total stranger. And my mom is probably losing her shit, since I’m not back and my phone is dead and she can’t see my location.

“Yes, you were,” I add under my breath, not caring if he can hear me or not.

Am I flirting with him? Do I even know how to flirt? Maybe coming to Mallorca has already begun to change me. Maybe my mother is right and this island holds something magical that even the most skeptical can’t deny the pull of?

His looks aside. He seems like a walking red flag. Physically safe, my gut tells me that, but not the kind of guy I want to be kept up thinking about at night, or ever see again.

“How long have you been in Mallorca?” His voice travels with the breeze from being so close to the shore.

“Not long enough to not get lost.” I keep facing ahead, my back straight and feet absolutely screaming at me for not breaking in my sandals before wearing them out all day. I look down at them, at the blisters forming, and groan.

“Do you want to borrow my shoes?” he asks.

What the?

“You can barely walk,” he simply points out.

I don’t turn around. I’m already having him help me back to my hotel. Putting his sandals on would be too much, wouldn’t it?

I nod to myself, yes. Yes, it would. He’s a random man who I don’t want to owe a favor to.

“You want me to wear your shoes, but you won’t tell me your name?” I call to him as we turn the corner, passing a stunning abandoned church.

“I never said I wanted you to wear my shoes,” he corrects me. “I offered them to you because your feet are bleeding. You haven’t told me yours either, by the way.”

I look down again and shake my head. He doesn’t need to know my name, and I don’t need his stupid, comfortable, padded, not-torturous shoes.

Chapter Five

When we arrive in front of my hotel, I can’t help but pause, taking in its beauty at night. It’s a literal castle hanging right off the shore. The light washed stone is perfectly imperfectly built and entrancing. It’s an architectural dream. From the front entrance I can hear the soft crash of the waves below. Shiny luxury cars are parked in a row, my mom’s driver is luckily nowhere to be found. I can hear music… a violin maybe, coming from inside the hotel lobby.

---