Page 6 of Beautifully Wild

We make a final dash along a pebbled road and then come across Foundation House, a place where the famous Brazilian author, Jorge Amado’s book covers are housed in his honor. Four floors inside the blue colonial building hold the entire archive of his work. Discovering small treasures like this adds to the adventure, although we are unable to stay long for already the sun is descending toward the horizon.

We pass a museum for African-Brazilian art and artifacts. We have enough time to wander inside before the bus arrives. The exhibits reflect the African cultures of the region and deities. I lead Amy to a carved wooden statue of Iemanjá.

Amy fixes her gaze on the statue, then reads the inscription. “I’m beginning to understand why it means so much to Yasmine, knowing it’s part of her heritage.”

“Yeah.” I’ve always understood Yasmine, and yet right now, I’m a bit jealous of how she’s in touch with her spirituality in this exotic place. I’ve followed her lead because she offers the best advice and is always feeding us girls with word porn that’s healthy for our souls.

We arrive back at the hotel to find Yasmine has purchased frangipanis and other white knick-knacks to divide amongst us. She instructs us to tie them to our letter when offering it to Iemanjá. Tomorrow, if the ocean swallows our offering, it means the deity has accepted our gifts.

All our wishes differ. My friends have written long lists, but mine is simply asking Iemanjá to guide me in finding happiness and a sense of purpose.

Lord knows I need it.

Samuel

Salvador, Brazil

Theweightofmeetinghis friends plays on Samuel’s mind. Unable to sleep, he shaves and cuts his unruly hair to appear more civilized before wandering out to buy breakfast.

A sea of white packs the street, blocking his path.

Dressed in a red t-shirt and cargos, he stands out like blood on a chef’s white apron. He’d forgotten about the ceremony when he decided to stay in Salvador overnight before flying on to Rio.

He’s witnessed it all before and respects their belief. It still intrigues him, so he decides to mesh with the crowd. Pulling his t-shirt over his head, baring his tanned chest in an attempt to blend. He follows the mob toward the beach, watches them load small boats filled with gifts—gifts to please the Iemanjá so she’ll grant a favorable fishing season among other personal blessings.

The chanting continues, repetitive singing and white flowers adorning hundreds of offerings. The people follow wading and jumping the waves to leave their tributes and asking for blessings.

A voice with a sweet accent catches his attention.

Laughter.

Blonde hair that’s whiter than his.

The crowd parts momentarily, and he allows his gaze the luxury of lowering. Subtle curves in a white swimsuit knock the wind out of him. The swimsuit style is cut to her navel, revealing the swell of her breasts. He forces his gaze to lift and meets the most beautiful blue eyes as rich as the ocean’s color.

Caught in her spell, he’s unable to look away. His entire body hums, and for a second, his world tilts. He’s quick to shut it down and blames lack of food and sleep. He resists the urge to take a step toward her and wills his feet to remain in the sand.

Her friend steps forward and severs the pull between their eyes.

He lets out a breath and wills his heart to slow. Samuel turns in the direction of the hotel, his place of refuge. For too long, he has denied the feeling that shook his core, the pull of need reminding him he’s still a man—desirefrom a single glance, an understanding of lust.

Years of constraint incinerated in seconds.

He blames the Brazilian sun and seeks shelter behind the walls of his hotel.

For him, safety isnotin numbers.

5

Eden

“Whatisit?”Yasminetakes a step closer and blocks my view.

“Nothing,” I say quickly and sidestep around her to wade through the ocean to the sand. Only it wasn’t nothing. In those brief seconds, I was walking on clouds.

I search the crowd after losing sight of the shirtless blond with the intense stare. For a few seconds, my balance wavered with the pull of lust. Only it wasn’t just lust. On another level, I felt more, which is odd for me since I don’t know him. Heaven forbid I mention for the first time in countless months that my libido came alive. I imagine my friends celebrating the resurgence of my sex drive by dropping to their knees and giving thanks to whatever deity is a sex goddess. Hmm, maybe this is something I should know about. I could be praying to the wrong god.

“Eden!”

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