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 aback by 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:
No problem just text me when you’re done
I press the L button and ride down to the lobby to see if Amara’s there while I wait. The desk is empty when I step out, but I hear her distinct laughter coming from a hallway nearby. I follow the noise and find her pressed against the stone wall, her hands held above her head, with Prisha’s mouth on hers. Amara’s knee moves between Prisha’s thighs, gently pressing between them.
I can’t seem to look away. I should, I most certainly, definitely, absolutely should, but Julián pops back into my head and I can’t help but imagine him pinning me against a wall…
“Oh, Ry. Hey!” Amara says, snapping me out of my voyeurism.
I cover my face with my hands, though it’s obviously too late to pretend.
“Sorry, guys! I heard you laughing and came to find you!” My voice is loud and creaky.
Kill me.
“It’s all good.” Amara laughs as Prisha lowers her hands down to her side, still holding them.
Prisha turns to me. “Ry, I hope you got home okay last night.” Her face crinkles in worry. “I’m sorry we weren’t paying attention to what was happening to you,” Prisha explains, sincerity in her large brown eyes.
She’s less dressed-up today in tight jeans, a tucked-in black T-shirt, and strappy heeled sandals. Her makeup is subtle and she’s even more drop-dead gorgeous in the light of day. Amara seems to agree, not taking her eyes off Prisha as we talk.
“No, no. It’s totally not your fault. I’m sorry I got drunk and danced with that creep. One too many Fabio shots.” I laugh a little, and the two of them nod, agreeing with laughter.
“I just came down to say hi while waiting for my mom. We’re having breakfast, then a boat ride, then blah blah blah…” I sigh, leaning against the cold stone wall on the opposite side of them.
“You’re not meeting Julián?” Amara asks, nodding in the direction of the lobby.
I shake my head. “I wish,” I blurt out.
Both of their brows lift, and they share a look.
“Well, your wish is his command, because he’s been waiting in the lobby for you for like two hours,” Amara tells me.
Taking a few steps toward the lobby and peering out of the hallway, I search for him. How did I miss him when I passed by? “Really?”
They nod. Amara talks first.
“Oh yeah, realllyyyyy.” She draws out the sounds in the most dramatic way.
“You two get back to… yeah… and I’m going to find him,” I say, moving so quickly I’m not sure if they can even hear me.
I turn the corner and there he is, sitting on the arm of one of the oversized couches in the lobby. Seeing him is such a relief and such a rush, it’s confusing and contradictory, but god, it feels so good.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a job?” I tease him.
“I do, but since I’m the second-in-command, I can show up a little late.”
“Ah, okay, big shot.” I’m touched that he would spend his time here, waiting for me, so I stop the teasing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here and I passed by but didn’t see you,” I tell him, not able to hide the growing smile on my face.
His lips curl into an equally cheesy smile. “I had to pee. I’d been holding it forever, so I ran to the toilet, and of course, that’s when you came down.”
“Have you really been here two hours?” I ask, tilting my head and taking him in.
The teal color of his T-shirt looks so good against the color of his skin.
Raising one hand, he rubs the back of his neck. “It was closer to three, but yeah,” he admits, shyness covering his words.
“Well, thank you. I really wanted to see you today, and since my day is booked up, I thought I wasn’t going to be able to.”
“I brought you breakfast.” He holds up a brown paper bag. “It’s probably not as good now, and isn’t warm, but—” I grab the bag from him and stop him from continuing.
“I can’t wait to try it.” I smile, plopping down onto the couch and patting the empty space next to me.
“Okay, so we’ve got ensa?mada , which is sweet and has a pretty fucked-up story behind it, but I’ll save that for another day.” He pulls out a thick, swirly bread with a coating of sugar dusted on top.
“Goes perfect with coffee, but that’s also cold. Sorry.” He smiles, handing me the cup.
“I love cold coffee. I’m a twentysomething American girl, remember? We live for an iced coffee. Okay, what else you got in there?”
He lays out a napkin and sets the first pastry down to dig back into the grease-stained bag. My stomach grumbles. I love anything sweet, and adding bread on top of that—my favorite.
“Okay, so this one is a pan de payas. Super traditional, savory but fucking good. This one has garlic and salt flakes on it. And last, but not least…” He sets that one down and reaches back into the bag. “We’ve got a sort of baguette, in case you’re a picky eater. I got two of each, too, in case you’re starving.”
“Wow, thank you. I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long,” I say, breaking off a piece of the sugarcoated one.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know I was coming, and the sun is brutal today, so I’m not in a hurry to get out on the water.”
I shove the bread into my mouth and look at him, taking in the cuts and callouses on his hardworking hands and forearms.
“I was talking to the bread,” I tease, with a mouthful of thick, fluffy, salty bread.
“Your charm is really something today.” He tosses me a smile, tearing at the food with his teeth.
I wink at him. “Aw, thanks.”
We eat in mostly silence, and I down my room-temperature coffee. It’s smooth and, like he said, is perfect with the bread. I try each of them, saving the baguette for last, then back to the second sweet bread as Julián watches me, seemingly enjoying watching me eat as much as I’m enjoying devouring it.
He hands me his coffee when mine is empty. “Thank you. I guess I was more hungry than I thought.”
“My pleasure.”
A family passes by us in the lobby, the two children swatting at each other as the mother tries to break them up, while the father is oblivious on his phone. I would hate that type of marriage. It would be like being married to my mother, never getting their full attention. At least with my mom, she’s working. This guy looks like he might just be watching a damn football match.
“Truth is, Ry, I was desperate to see you. I could barely sleep, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus at work today if I didn’t see you even for a moment.”
His words catch me off guard and I choke a little, coughing as he pats my back. “Sorry, not trying to have you choke to death.”
“You’re in a… mood today,” I note, pressing my shoulder against his.
I am unsure and unable to express how much I love this mood, this open, sarcastic, communicative, desperate-to-see-me mood.
“I took my meds.” He laughs, licking his lips.
My scalp pricks a little, thinking about mine.
“Ha. Ha,” I say, not sure if he’s joking.
“Oh, I got sugar all over myself.” I wipe my hands over the tiny white dots across my chest. He raises his hand to help me, gently pressing against my breasts with a napkin.
I take in a big breath through clenched teeth, trying to focus on the slow drum of the lobby music, but it’s nearly impossible with the way he’s touching me so casually. The air in the lobby shifts, and my breath staggers as his movement slows. Knowing exactly what he’s doing, he looks up at me and takes the tip of his index finger and brushes it against my bare skin at the top of my neckline, tracing the square shape of the fabric. Goose bumps rise on my skin; I feel like I’m going to jump out of it. The urge to lean in and close the gap between us and kiss him is stronger than the afternoon tide.
His thumb and forefinger pick up my necklace, toying with it gently, rubbing the pad of his finger over the ridges on the surface of the small seashell. As he clicks it open, I reach my hand up, covering his and lowering it back down. For the first time, I notice his hands are not only calloused but also covered in small scars in the shape of small slices, reaching from the back of his palm up his arms, stopping just below his elbows. Some as thin as a papercut and some as wide as a rope string.
“Does that locket have a photo of your boyfriend back home? Is that why you don’t want me to see it?” He cocks a brow, doubt carving into his forehead even though his tone is playful, unbothered.
“Yeah, my kids too,” I quip back.
The ache of something I’ll never be able to have digs at my insides, but out of habit and a lot of practice, I push it away. A tight smile replaces the heartache.
“Damn. Knew you were too good to be true.” Julián’s fingers are slowly tracing the line of my collarbone again. He stops and presses his open palm against my chest.
“You look absolutely stunning today. Why?” He moves closer, still gauging my rapidly beating heart.
I can barely speak; my tongue feels heavy and my brain like mashed potatoes. “I… I was supposed to have breakfast with my mom, but she was running late.” My eyes go wide, and I pull away. “Shit! What time is it? I can never tell if it’s been minutes or hours when you’re around,” I admit in my panic.
His smile says a million words. “What a compliment. It’s almost ten.”
I reach for my phone and check the screen. A missed call from my mom.
“Sorry, I need to call her really quick,” I whisper to Julián, who’s now cleaning up the bread massacre we’ve made on the table.
On the first ring she picks up, and without any type of greeting, she gets right to it. “Ry, I see you’re in the hotel but not your room.” Annoyance claws at me knowing that unless my phone is dead, she always has my location. I have hers, too, but I’ve never needed or wanted it. “We already ordered our food. What should I order you?”
“I actually just ate in the lobby. I can meet you guys in the restaurant in a few minutes. I’m finishing up with a friend.” I glance at Julián.
“The receptionist from the front desk?” my mother questions.
“No. A different one.” I decide not to lie. I’ll answer her questions later.
I hear a hmmm come through the line and end the call swiftly.
“Sorry. She booked my whole day: breakfast here, some boat ride, a dinner…”
“Do you like boats?” Julián asks, intrigue in his voice.
I nod. “I love them. Haven’t been on one in a while, but we used to have one when I was a kid. But the busier my mom’s schedule got, the less time we had for it, so she sold it and I haven’t been on one in years.
“Do you know this one?” I pull my calendar out and click on the link to show him the name of the company my mom booked the tour through and the style of boat.
“That’s not a boat. That’s a yacht,” he corrects me. “You’re going to be so far from the water that it’s a waste of time and a lot of money. Unless you’re just going on to drink and shmooze with rich people and eat their fancy stale food.”
The embarrassment I feel is unwarranted. It’s not like I booked the huge yacht or spent the money, but he does have a point, now that I’m looking at how massive the size is.
“You won’t be able to put your hand in the water as you cruise or feel the waves of the sea at all. They’ll serve you overpriced food and champagne, but it’s not a true experience,” he goes on.
“Sorry, I’m being harsh about it.” He shrugs. “But these kinds of tourist traps make me so angry. Inauthenticity makes me so angry.” He tugs at the back of his neck with his hand.
“My bias toward it or not, I do want you to have a nice time. Maybe one day when you’re not booked up, I can give you the real Mallorca experience?”
I nod, desperately wanting that.
“You should go before you get in trouble,” he jokes. “Thank you for enjoying your morning with me. Now my workday will be much better after seeing you.”
The freckled spots of his brown eyes seem lighter today. Everything about him seems lighter today. He stands up to leave, and I tug on his hand from where I’m sitting on the couch.
“Thank you for coming here and bringing me food and coffee. It made my day.” I hold his hand in mine, turning it around, noting how much bigger it is than my own.
“Let’s see each other again soon, deal?” he asks, bending down face-to-face with me. I close my eyes in anticipation, and he double kisses my cheeks. “Adéu, Ry.”
“Deal.” I watch him leave, soaking in the words he said.
I was desperate to see you…
My feet dance under me and I pop up, energized and mesmerized. He’s enchanting and mysterious. Honest yet private, and though he just left, I’m already counting down to when I can see him again. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way about anything; not even my dance performances had me feeling as twirly inside as this man. I’m either about to have the summer I’ve been dreaming of, or this is going to end in a nightmare.