Page 36 of Everything We Left Behind

We stopped at a corner. Tourists crowded the street closed off to cars, heading home from the beach or out for the evening. I moved behind Natalya, looking over her shoulder at the screen. A rowdy group passed, bumping into us. I wrapped an arm around her waist to keep us balanced. She didn’t tense or move away and I glanced at her curiously. Her attention focused on her phone.

“Here we go.” She showed me the first sketch, a mosaic of sunburst designs in yellow and orange.

I cupped her hand and tilted the screen so there wasn’t a glare. She leaned back against my chest, and without thinking twice, I ducked my head into the crook of her shoulder. She smelled like the beach and something exotic. I inhaled deeper. Tangerines.Damn, that’s sexy.

She jerked slightly away and twisted her neck to look up at me. “Did you just smell me?”

Heat flamed my face. Thank God I had the permanent-tan thing going so she couldn’t see how my cheeks burned.

“Omigod. Do I stink?” She sniffed her armpit and I laughed. She fanned her shirt. “I forget how hot and dry it is here.”

“You smell fine, Nat.” More than fine. I squeezed her hip. “Show me the others.”

She flipped to the next image, a floral-and-ocean-wave montage done in black and white, and the third, an undersea scene of fish and octopi. “This is my favorite.”

“Hmm, show me the first one again.”

She scrolled back a couple of photos.

“That’s mine.”

She twisted in my arm to look at me again. Her expression softened. “You love the sun.”

I nodded and a wisp of melancholy threaded through me, weaving around my heart. The world slowed around us, fading away until all that existed was me, Natalya, my conversation with Imelda, and the loomingwhat ifat the center of my life. When would the switch flip in my head? “Every sunset is one more day I had with my sons. Every sunrise is—”

“One more day where you remember the previous day,” Natalya finished for me.

I let my arm fall from her waist.

She turned fully and rested a palm on the side of my face, her fingers curving into my hair and around my neck. I felt a slight pressure as though she tried to pull my face to hers. Her lips parted and I’d never wanted to kiss her as badly as I did in that moment. But her thumb skimmed my cheek and her expression turned to one of concern. “You’ve been thinking about the fugue.”

“I’m never not thinking about it.” I’m reminded every day when I sit down to write. It’s the reason I write.

She frowned. “Then what is it? Did Thomas call you?”

“Not me. Imelda.” I grasped her fingers and tugged her arm. “I’ll tell you about it later. Let’s go. I’m thirsty.”

Packed and sweltering, I steered us to the bar. Music thundered from the speakers—a flamenco duo strumming their magic on guitars. Smoke from the grill outside clung to the ceiling, carrying the scent of Alfonso’s famous beer-battered fish tacos. My friends Rafael Galindo and Miguel Díaz were parked at the bar. I knew them from the gym. We mountain-biked every few weekends, and when I could get away from the kids, I met them for beers.

I clapped Miguel on the shoulder.

“Hey, Carlos, my friend.” He gave me a fist-bump then saw Natalya beside me.“Mí bella novia americana.”He hugged her.

“There are two things you got right. I’m American and I’m beautiful.”

“You break my heart.” Miguel bumped his fist on his chest. “Since you won’t be my girlfriend, how about showing me how you do the good stuff on the waves.”

“In your dreams.” She kissed his cheek. “Surfer girls never reveal their tricks.”

I shook Rafael’s hand. We exchanged a few words until I excused us and ordered two margaritas on the rocks. We took them to the patio, and Natalya commandeered a table as the occupants vacated. I cheered my glass.

“A toast to Mari and your company’s new line of custom-designed longboards. Here’s to your success.”

Natalya sipped her drink. “Mmm, that’s good.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth. “I have no doubt they will be well received, and I’ll figure a way for Dad to accept Mari’s terms. But let’s talk about you.” She pushed her drink aside and leaned forward, hands clasped and forearms on the table. “What’s going on with Thomas and Imelda? I thought he stopped calling you.”

“He did.” I glanced around the crowded patio. “Look, I can’t talk about it now.”

Her brows bunched. “Because it’s too loud or because you’re not ready?”

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