I twisted off the cap, surprised that the beach was still as crowded as when I’d arrived. Hotel guests from the Don CeSar reclined in lounge chairs shaded by umbrellas; along the beach, dozens of visitors lay on colorful towels. At the water’s edge, some little kids were building a sandcastle; a woman was walking a dog whose tongue lolled almost to his paws. The music from the pool area continued behind me, making me wince at the occasional off-key note.
As it happened, I neither heard nor saw her approach. All I knew was that someone was suddenly hovering above me, casting a shadow over my face. When I squinted, I recognized the girl from the beach yesterday, smiling down at me, her long dark hair framing my field of vision.
“Hi,” she said without a trace of self-consciousness. “Didn’t I see you playing at Bobby T’s last night?”
I guess I should explain something else: Even though I’ve mentioned that I’d hoped to run into the dark-haired beauty at the beach, I didn’t have a plan after that. I’m not nervous when it comes to meeting women, though I am out of practice. Back home, aside from when I play the occasional gig for friends, I seldom go out. My excuse is usually that I’m too tired, but really, if you’ve lived in the same small town your entire life, doing pretty much anything on a Friday or Saturday night feels a bit like the movie Groundhog Day. You go to exactly the same places and see exactly the same people and do exactly the same things, and how often can someone experience the endless déjà vu without finally asking themselves, Why am I even here?
The point is, I was a little rusty at making conversation with beautiful strangers and found myself gaping up at the girl wordlessly.
“Hello? Anyone home?” she asked into the silence. “Or have you already killed off the contents of that cooler, which means I should probably walk away right now?”
There was no mistaking the playfulness in her tone, but I barely registered her teasing as I took in the sight of her wearing a white half shirt along with faded jeans shorts that exposed part of a tantalizing purple bikini. She looked like she might be part Asian, and her thick, wavy hair was windblown in a messy-casual kind of way, as if she’d spent the day outdoors, just like me. I lifted my bottle of beer slightly.
“This is only my second of the day,” I said, finding my voice, “but whether you walk away is up to you. And, yes, you may have heard me at Bobby T’s last night, depending on what time you were there.”
“You were also the guy with the tattoos on the beach yesterday, right? Who eavesdropped on me and my friends?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I protested. “The four of you were loud.”
“You were also staring at me.”
“I was watching the dolphins.”
“Did you or did you not peek over your shoulder when you were walking away?”
“I was stretching my neck.”
She laughed. “What are you doing out here behind the hotel? Trying to accidentally eavesdrop on me and my friends again?”
“I came out to enjoy the sunset.”
“You’ve been here for hours and sunset is still a long way off.”
“How do you know how long I’ve been here?”
“Because I saw you when you first walked by. We were by the pool.”
“You saw me?”
“You were kind of hard to miss, lugging all your gear from somewhere up the beach. Seems like you could have plopped down anywhere. If you just wanted to enjoy the sunset, I mean.” Her brown eyes flashed with mischief.
“Would you like a beer?” I countered. “Since you obviously came out here to speak with me?”
“Oh, no thanks.”
I hesitated. “You are old enough to drink, though, right? I don’t want to be the creepy twenty-five-year-old who offers alcohol to minors.”
“Yup. Just turned twenty-one, actually. I’ve graduated college and everything.”
“Where are your friends?”
“They’re still at the pool.” She shrugged. “They were having margaritas when I left.”
“Sounds like a pleasant afternoon.”
She motioned toward my chair. “Can I borrow your towel?”
“My towel?”
“Please.”
I could have asked why, but instead, I simply stood, pulled it from the beach chair, and handed it over.
“Thank you.” She whipped it straight, then spread it on the sand beside my chair before taking a seat. I lowered myself into my chair, watching as she leaned back on her elbows, her long, sun-browned legs stretched out in front of her. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. “I’m Morgan Lee, by the way,” she finally offered.