Page 28 of The Last Sunrise

He nods. “Yet here we are.”

Yet here we are. I’m tingling and excited and enjoying the banter with him. Damn him.

“I’m here for the summer, what’s the point of liking each other?” I ask him and myself as we continue to walk.

“What’s the point of anything in life? If you only think of the ending, you’re unable to take in the present, the point of living.”

“How philosophical,” I tease, trying to undercut how right he is and how deeply I feel his words.

“I’m being serious. Do you like me so far? Because it seems like you do.”

“Are you always this pushy? It’s been a day since we met.” I can tell by the expression on his face he’s not going to let this go.

Do I like him? Yes. Do I want to like him? No. No way in hell. I’m scared of what will happen if I say yes. I promised myself when I boarded the plane to come here that I wouldn’t let fear make any more choices for me. At the time I meant diving into the ocean, spending time roaming unfamiliar streets, trying new foods. Not a man on a freaking motorcycle who manages to turn me into a puddle every time he looks at me.

“No. I’m not. Believe it or not, I don’t usually chase women around town. It would be bad for my already damaged reputation.”

I laugh, allowing myself to enjoy the way he makes me feel. His humor is my favorite type. Self-deprecating and witty, intelligent but not obnoxious. Well, a little obnoxious, but still.

“So, what’s so bad about us hanging out until you leave or we get sick of each other? What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he questions, having no idea what the worst thing actually could be.

“If you don’t agree, you can live with the satisfaction, or guilt, of knowing you drove me absolutely mad by turning me down.” A playful glimmer in his eyes makes me smile. “Just for the summer, why not see where it goes and have fun?”

“You’re asking for me to spend my summer with you? You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

We’re approaching my hotel. I find myself wishing I would have walked slower. He stops walking and faces me, touching my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He’s so close as he leans in that I can count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. The night air buzzes between us, my breath lost in the light breeze.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” His voice is so seductive that I almost nod before snapping out of it.

I gently shove at his chest, my heart hammering in my own. “No. Oh my god, no.” I try to hide the heat in my cheeks, and he bursts into laughter.

“Right… so are you going to give me some of your precious time this summer or not?”

His smile is so convincing, so damn charming.

I twist the fabric of his shirt in my hands, contemplating. “For now. And only the summer. No drama, no ghosting, just a fun summer fling. If we even make it that far.”

“Deal,” he says, grinning like he won the Super Bowl.

“Deal.” I roll my eyes, excited and terrified at the same time.

Chapter Eleven

When I stretch awake the next morning, I feel every ounce of last night. Of Fabio’s shots, of Julián’s almost-kiss-then-ditch, him admitting that he’s into me. I roll over, press my face into the pillows, dig my fists into the softness, and kick my feet dramatically. What a whirlwind this trip already is, and I’ve barely gotten my toes wet.

I check the Google Calendar on my phone to see what my schedule for the day is supposed to be. A breakfast with my mom and Lena, a boat tour in the afternoon, and dinner tonight at seven. My entire day is planned for me, and yet all I want to do is find a way to see Julián again. I laugh thinking about how my mom would react if Julián showed up in his flip-flops, board shorts, and tan lines. My mom and Julián are worlds away in every aspect—even imagining them in a room together is comical and anxiety-inducing. The tightness between her brows that never budges are such a contrast to Julián’s soft crinkles around his eyes, showing the years of sun, laughter, and life etched into his stunning face.

With the biggest sigh, I drag myself out of bed and mosey my way into the bathroom of my suite. The wooden planked floor is cold against my bare feet. In the mirror, I’m taken abackby the flush in my cheeks, the lack of puffiness and darkness around my eyes. I press my palm into my beating heart, more proof of how much energy, how much life, has been breathed back into me in such a short time. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but I owe it to myself to relish the way this feels and allow myself to enjoy it, to savor it, and not go back to the constant brain fog I’ve been living in. I stare at my pill container. Instead of overthinking it, I turn the shower on.

Anticipation of when I can see Julián again is at the forefront of my mind as I shower and get dressed for breakfast. On top of my navy-blue daisy-patterned bikini, I put on a simple matching set, mocha-brown linen pants and a sleeveless cropped top. The neckline is square, my shell necklace resting just between my collarbones. After pulling my hair back, I drop it down my shoulders, then pull it back up, contemplating which looks better. Deciding on a claw clip so I can take it down if I get the urge, I twist my long hair up and clip it, tugging out a few loose strands around my face.

After my skincare, I opt for tinted sunscreen instead of foundation and a tiny bit of liquid blush under my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I almost pop my contact into my right eye, but remember Amara and Julián’s encouragement, so I decide not to put it in after all. I keep my hands busy by tidying up my bathroom counter, the pill organizer practically screaming at me. I cover it with a hand towel, as if that will make it disappear. I’m fine, no side effects yet, even with the strobe light mishap. It’s a confusing feeling, knowing I’m making a choice for myself and my body instead of trying to avoid the inevitable, but there’s still a weight of guilt inside my chest. Maybe it’s because my mom will lose her shit if she finds out,or maybe it’s because taking them has just become a habit. If anything, I feel better than ever. I’ve been on more medications than I can count or remember the names of, since before I could walk or talk. All of that and the tubers still shifted.

“Enough, enough,” I say to myself in the mirror.

I take a deep breath, in and out, and roll my shoulders, shifting my mind back to Julián and the way he goofily waved goodbye to me last night in front of the lobby and nearly ran into a pillar as we said good night. After putting on fresh Band-Aids, I slide into my comfiest sandals at the door. I check my phone again. Regardless of how often I remind myself that Julián doesn’t have my number and I don’t have his, a little bubble of hope is there that he will take the initiative and ask Amara for it. I could always do the same, take charge and just get his number, but since my overly confessional monologue last night on the street, I’d rather have him take the lead this time.

As soon as I step into the elevator my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s my mom, informing me that her and Lena are stuck in a meeting and will be late for breakfast. I send back:

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