Page 23 of The Last Sunrise

“I can’t believe you stalked me on Instagram. You don’t seem like the type to use social media.”

He laughs, a soft whisper nearly lost between the wind and waves. “I did not stalk you. I randomly saw a photo of you with Amara when I was already on my way there. She invited me and our friends before your plane—or hell, probably private jet—even landed on our island. Before you were even thought of.”

“That’s harsh.” Honesty pushes the words out of my mouth before I can catch them.

He stares at me for a beat as if he’s trying to figure out what was wrong with what he said. Just as I’m about to attempt to lighten the mood and deflect from my sensitivity, he speaks. “I don’t mean you weren’t thought of.” He rubs his thumbs against his temples, the rest of his fingers lost in his dark hair.

He adds, “We made plans as a group is all I meant.”

“Why didn’t the rest of the group show up? Amara said you never come out during the week. I didn’t expect you to be there.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at me a little too intensely. I look away as he replies, “I don’t know why they didn’t come, but why are you and Amara talking about me anyways?”

“Because… I was complaining about the asshole— Sorry, the not-so-nice guy who helped me get back to my hotel, and she told me she knows you.”

“What else did she tell you?” he wonders.

We make eye contact and those damn eyes of his make me want to tell him every word, but logically it would be a bad idea to tell him what Amara said, and I would never want to do anything that would cause her drama or stress. She’s been so kind to me, so I decide to lie to the one who hasn’t.

“That was it. Oh, and that you’re a fisherman or something.” I shrug, leaning my hands behind me onto the smooth metal of the bike. The salty air smells incredible as it gently brushes against my face, arms, torso, caressing my bare skin where I’ve rolled my sleeves up.

“Hmph.” He doesn’t seem to believe me, but that’s all he’s getting out of me. “Are you going to stay on my bike, or do you want to go down to the water? You keep staring at it; I can feel you longing for it.”

Maybe it’s the slight language barrier or his choice of words, but that damn pang in the bottom of my stomach throbs again.

“Let’s go, then.” I hop off his bike and bend down to cross under the wooden fence between us and the sand.

I spot a narrow dirt path carved out between the low brush and I follow it until my feet touch the sand. Without looking back, I can hear Julián’s footsteps behind me. I listen carefully to them, the quiet flip and flop of the sand against his sandals, the way the sound changes when he takes them off. I stop for a moment to take my shoes off, because sandy sneakers are a nightmare, and carry them in one hand. It’s darker down here without the streetlamps, but the moonlight is bright enough to make out the line of the water, the sand, the cliffs, and of course Julián’s face, as I turn around to look at him.

“Is this beach for locals only too?” I ask with a hint of sarcasm.

He smiles. “All of our beaches are. Sorry, you should go back up to the street. I forgot you’re American for a second.”

“Ha. Ha.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re the one who brought me here, betraying your people,” I tease, allowing myself to get drawn toward the water.

The shallow waves finally kiss my toes, warm and relieving. Washing over the tops of my feet, in and back out, in and back out.

“Are your feet better today?” He looks down between us at my bandaged feet, my sneakers in my hand.

I nod, surprised that he cared to remember, let alone ask. We’re quiet for a moment, and I close my eyes again, a natural reaction when I’m relaxed.

“You like the water, huh?” Julián asks maybe two minutes later. I open my eyes and he’s now standing closer to me.

I nod. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little, but I’m very observant.”

“Is there anything about you that you would consider a flaw? Or do you just think you’re perfect?” I stare back out onto the water before he responds.

There seems to be something soft, almost vulnerable about him, if I didn’t know better. “It would take your whole summer to listen to me list all my flaws.”

His response quiets me. I don’t have a witty or snarky thing to say. There’s an honesty to him that I want to see more of, feel more of.

“And you? Do you have any flaws, Miss Know-It-All?”

“Only tragic ones,” I tell him, letting him decide if I’m serious.

The silence between us feels soft and safe. Not what I expected when alone with Julián, who just a few hours ago was my enemy. He starts to walk forward, and my eyes follow him to the water, as does my body. I leave my shoes in the sand and roll the bottom of my jeans up.

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