Page 479 of Not Over You

“Or, you could go to Jiménez Casa Agavera and see if they’ll let you join. I’ve heard from many past guests that they’re very accommodating.”

“Perfect. I’ll do that. What time does the next tour start?”

“At six p.m. It’s their sunset tour. You like to take pictures, sí?” He nods towards the camera hanging around my neck now. “Well, you’ll get some fotos muy bonitas as the sun goes down over los campos de agave Jiménez.”

“Amazing.” A bolt of excitement thrums through me. I don’t speak fluent Spanish, but I know enough to understand what he’s saying, and I cannot wait to capture the agave fields at sunset.

“Taxis line the shops and the beach. They know where Jiménez Casa Agavera is, but just in case, here is the address,” he says, bobbing his head as he hands me a white slip of paper.

“Thank you,” I chirp excitedly, tucking the paper into my bikini top and giving him a wide smile.

I have a few hours before I need to catch a ride to the tour, might as well get some shots in—both photos and tequila. I turn towards the open double doors where the sun, sand, and alcohol are calling my name, whispering delicious promises if I just go to them. It doesn’t take much to convince me. It’s time to get my R&R on. Hey, maybe I’ll even snap a few shots for my gallery showing in September, that would be fan-fucking-tastic.

“Oh my god, you guys are just the cutest,” I coo at the iguanas basking in the sun on a rock formation near the tide pools.

Crouching down, I raise my camera to capture them, adjusting the lens so the focal point targets the largest iguana lying in the center, before zooming out and taking a panoramic shot. The sun is beaming down unbidden, highlighting the beautiful mixture of greens painting their skin. That, coupled with the ocean waves lapping in the background, spraying mist into the air behind them, creates a picturesque moment. One I absolutely have to seize.

I stand and hang my camera around my neck, pushing it over my shoulder so it’s lying against my bare back. Slipping off my sandals, I climb up onto a nearby rock formation—opposite the iguanas. It’s not a difficult climb, but then again, I’ve been doing shit like this since I could walk, so it’ll take more than a big rock with a little algae growing on it to trip me up. Even the four shots of tequila pumping vivaciously through my blood won’t put a stumble in my step. I love to explore. It’s at the center of the very atoms of my being. I think it’s why I feel so at home in nature, versus the cloying claustrophobia I feel when I’ve been in the city too long.

Tourists walk past me, eyeing me speculatively, but I ignore them in favor of getting the perfect shot. I suck in a small gasp as I lie flat on the rock. It’s cooler than I expected it to be. The juxtaposition of heat on my back from the bright sun and the cool rock beneath me is oddly satisfying. The raucous noises from the crowd on the beach slip away until all that’s left is the click of my camera’s shutter and the echoing waves of the ocean’s water beating against the rocks.

I snap a few more shots, scooting along the rock face to find that perfect angle, until I’m satisfied I’ve achieved what I was envisioning. I’ve never been concerned with how dirty I get while taking photos, I’m solely focused on capturing what I see in my mind, on camera. It’s one of my finer qualities—at least I think so. I’m willing to do what some won’t for the sake of the best shot. Dirty me up, I’ll happily take it if it means I captured the essence of what’s in front of me. Although, one line I refuse to cross is encroaching on a wild animal's personal space. Not so much for my safety, but because this is their land and I’m just barely a permitted visitor.

The climb down is just as easy, and a broad smile spreads across my face. Today has already been a very good day for me. What started with the release of some pent-up sexual frustration thanks to a stupidly gorgeous stranger that I refuse to focus back on, has only gotten better. I’m excited to see the photos I just took come to life on canvas and hung in my gallery.

With a goodbye to the cute little mess of iguanas, I head back towards the throng of partying beachgoers. The sunflower bikini I’m wearing is muddied up and there’s a line of dirt on my forearms. Time to take a dip in the ocean to rinse off before I find myself another drink and a shaded spot to sip on it while people watching—one of my absolute favorite activities.

Humans are so interesting.

“Fuck. Fuck a duck. Why didn’t I set my alarm?” I mutter to myself, racing through the sand for the line of taxis waiting along the beach access road.

Throwing open the rear door to the first one I reach, I jump inside and cringe at the heavy thud of the door slamming shut behind me. The car rocks and a startled man with wide eyes looks back at me as I huff out, “Jiménez Casa Agavera, por favor.”

Silence greets me, and I imagine this man is probably trying to measure my level of crazy, so I pull out a few bills and set them down on the center console between the front seats. “Please. I need to get there fast.”

He shakes out of his shock and nods, pocketing the cash and pulling onto the busy street. It’s already seven p.m., who knows if the tour’s even running still, but I can’t miss a chance to capture the sunset.

I collapse backwards and let my eyes fall shut as I work to get my breath under control. I’m in decent shape, but running through sand is not the business—especially when you’re tipsy. Remind me never to do that again.

“Señorita, estamos aquí.”

I pry my eyes open, blinking to dispel the blurriness, and peer out the window. We’re stopped in front of a copper rustic building with a large wooden sign hanging above. An agave plant is painted in the center with Jiménez Casa Agavera scrawled across the middle.

Huh, I must have taken a quick cat nap. Jesse is always bitching about how I can fall asleep at the drop of a dime. It’s true, and I fully chock that in the plus category—another one of my stellar qualities.

“Gracias. Seriously, thank you,” I tell the driver and hand him another bill before slipping out of the car.

A plume of dust follows in his wake as he drives back down the gravel road. My best guess is the rustic building in front of me is the office, as the other buildings are spread farther around the property and there’s no sign hanging above them. Nothing to indicate what they are.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I say, pulling the door open.

Or, I would have if it was unlocked.

I knock loudly a few times and jiggle the handle again, but it doesn’t budge. Dammit. They must be on the tour still. Think, Rumor, think. What can I do? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I walked around the property myself, right? I shove a few bills under the office door to cover my self-guided tour, and head off in the direction of the gorgeous garden I spotted when I first stepped out of the taxi.

A slight breeze glances off my heated skin, brushing my curls from my face and permeating the air around me with a fresh, earthy aroma. I pull in a lungful, letting it wash over me. The red clay beneath my sandals is packed tightly but surprisingly soft and bouncy. I wonder if they water the entire grounds? Crouching, I pinch a bit of it between my fingers and rub them together. It’s smooth like silk and has a light acidic scent. This would definitely work well as a face mask.

I round the corner of a barn-like building, and gasp at the picturesque scene. Jackpot. The sky is a burning flame of reds and oranges, casting its ethereal haze over the acres of agave plants lined perfectly in the soil. My camera is in hand in an instant. How can it not be? I snap shot after shot, adjusting my lens and angles to capture everything. Damn, I need to thank that concierge when I get back to my hotel. I already know these will turn out to be the best photos I’ve ever taken. I can’t wait to see them on canvas.

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