Page 62 of The Last Sunrise

“What in Saint’s name are these?” He pulls them off, examining them like a species of fish he’s never encountered, but with much less excitement.

I can barely speak through my belly laughter. “They’re sunglasses. Trendy ones. Amara picked them out and they look great on you!” I put them back on his face.

“The hell they do! And I’ll be sure to give Amara an extra-sweetfuck offwhen I see her.”

I knew the sleek, black, Wayframe-style glasses were a step too far, but Amara insisted, and I was looking forward to Julián’s over-the-top reaction I knew he would have. It was beyond worth it. I stare at our bodies in the mirror, his much wider than mine, dressed in similar colors, looking like a picturesque couple on a vacation in Europe. I lean my back against his chest, and he wraps an arm around me, resting his hand on the top of my belly.

“We really are great together,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Thank you for coming into my life, Ry. I needed you and didn’t even know it.”

With his free hand, he pulls his phone from his pocket and takes another photo, this time posting it on Instagram. I tease him about it as we leave the room, but the validation and giddiness of being his first official Instagram relationship have me floating the rest of the way to his boat.

“I’m not sure what food I have left that’s not gone bad, so let’s stop by the market and grab what we want? Anything you’re craving?” He squeezes my hand as we walk down the tiny, winding street.

“Just you,” I remark, half teasing, half not.

“You’ve become rather insatiable.” He nudges against my shoulder, coming close enough to swipe his tongue across the shell of my ear. A shiver runs over me.

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and between my legs, so naturally I use humor to deflect from the way he can instantly turn me on.

“Insatiable? Are there any words that you don’t know? You’re not even just fluent, you have a bigger vocabulary than any English-speaking man I’ve ever met.”

We pause at a crosswalk, waiting our turn. The streets are slightly crowded but quiet. Julián’s grin is wicked, cocky, sexy. “Are you saying I’m smarter than all the men you’ve ever met?

“I’ve been doing crosswords since I was a kid. I was obsessed with learning English because my pare kept saying I’d need it, with the way the island was changing. Then they became a distraction on my worst mental health days, so my thirst for knowledge became a form of therapy as well.”

I’m impressed by him yet again.

“I hate to make your ego any bigger, but sadly I must admit it’s true.”

He doesn’t say a word, but he straightens his back jokingly, walking on his tippy toes. As an old man pulling a cart of apricots passes us, Julián turns to him. “I’m the smartest man she’s ever met,” he brags, and the grandpa shoos him away, cursing us as we crack up and cross the street.

“I would have helped him with that cart if he wasn’t so damn grumpy,” he says, pointing his finger toward a covered stall down what looks like an alley but is likely just a narrow street.

“This is my favorite market. Pollensa is the best on the island, but it’s only open on Sundays and a far drive from Palma and today is… well, I don’t know, but there would be more people out if it were Sunday.

“Do you have markets like this in Texas?” he asks as we approach.

An abundance of colorful fresh fruit and vegetables overflow their cardboard boxes.

“We call it a farmer’s market. We have them in major cities, but I’ve never been to one. I’ve seen them online though, if that counts.” I wince.

He nods, his lips making a pouty shape. “It counts. We have many, many different markets here in Mallorca. Every part of the island has their own, multiple in many, and we pride ourselves on our fresh produce, fruit, and seafood. Each one is open on different days, but if you’re lucky, you can find one open every day, like this one.”

An elderly couple behind the stall smile and greet us in Spanish, calling Julián by name. He introduces me and I do my best to say, “Hola, és un plaer conèixer-te.” My attempt at telling them it’s so nice to meet them seems to go over well and Julián tells me he’s impressed by my Spanish.

I tell Julián to surprise me with whatever he feels like making and he goes to work, picking up and inspecting a pepper, onions, fresh garlic cloves, a chunk of beef. The bag is full as he pays, against the couple’s wishes. I can tell by their body language and a word here and there that they insist he doesn’t pay, but he puts cash down on the table and playfully grabs my hand, half running away from them.

When we make it back to the boat, Julián’s face drops when he opens the unlocked door. “It’s, um… Sorry, it’s so dirty in here, compared to your place…”

I push past him, not acknowledging the difference and not caring in the least. I’m so thrilled to be back in Julián’s place,to be able to take in the details this time. I look around as quickly and as sharply as I can. Stacks upon stacks of crossword puzzles, books, newspapers. Giant aluminum cans that have pictures of tomatoes on them. Wine bottles, empty and full. With how much he works, it makes sense that his priority isn’t cleaning. He’s also a single man living on a boat, so why would he? Like the mind reader he is, he grabs an empty wine bottle and a stack of paper from the wooden dining table near the kitchen space, trying to organize them.

“Sometimes I go through phases when I clean and when I don’t. You’re seeing this in the middle of one of the bad times. It’s been much worse than this, but I’m trying to stay on top of it. Internet says it’s common with people with depressive episodes, so I’m trying.” He looks embarrassed and I want to hug him and comfort him, but I know how it feels to have someone draw attention to something you’re not ready or tired of talking about.

“Well, the best we can do is try. As we know, I’m struggling with trying as well, so let’s just keep trying together? Deal?”

His embarrassment melts away slowly and he nods. “Deal.”

He walks over to his dresser and grabs a T-shirt, the one he was wearing when we first met, and changes into the cut-sleeved T-shirt and cloth shorts. Neatly folding the new outfit and placing it on top of the dresser. We purposely left the rest of his new wardrobe in my room for the times, many, many more times, that he’ll stay over.

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