I met him on the beach.
I'd managed to steal a couple of hours sleep on the sand in the narrow shadow of the sea wall and I still lay in that half-dazed place between sleep and waking. Lying supine in a black bikini, leaning back on my elbows, knees bent, toes digging into the soft, cool sand, I watched people swimming in the sea and baking in the afternoon sun.
A group of British men played soccer with a brightly colored beach ball, their taunts and shouts flattened by the low rumble of the waves and the traffic above the sea wall. A couple of children squealed as they battered their hands into the thin film of water from a receding wave, sending sand and spray above their heads.
The beach ball bounced past me and settled in the nook below the wall. One of the Brits came over to fetch it. He half-jogged, barefoot in the soft sand, his body browned by the sun and toned by countless hours in some soulless gym. He paused beside me, as if to catch his breath in the shade. He looked down on me and smiled. He had a strong jaw and his eyes glittered with warmth as easily as the sunlight reflected off the sea. He reminded me of California, a string of metal and shell beads at his throat, his hair spiked and dark with sea water.
I guessed that the ball didn't land behind me by chance, as rather than collect it, he started talking to me. His name was Hector, from Newquay. I smiled. I gave up my name, but I think he misheard and called me Pêtra. He assumed I was Dutch and I didn't correct him. For all his casual friendly banter I could see he was slightly nervous, I suppose not without reason. I smiled in the right places and said nothing.
His friends grew impatient; he found little excuse to stay and so he returned to them, although he almost forgot the ball. On his return his friends, in the way the British do, teased and taunted him. I guess they assumed that I couldn't hear them. They played on and I watched. Every few minutes his eyes would drift over to me; he tried to hide it, but it only served to telegraph his stolen glances.
It wasn't long before I became restless. I sipped some warm water from a plastic bottle and slipped it into my bag. I stood and dusted the dry sand from my legs. The beach curved round for over a mile in either direction, thronged with people and burning in the hard sun. The heat haze hung on the white sand, merging the surf with the shore, the shore with the sky.
I walked down to where the waves turned back to the sea, the compacted sand cool and wet. The breakers rolled in across the huge bay and wore away to a soft lapping that splashed my shins and tangled strands of kelp between my toes.
Hector caught up, falling in step beside me. Did I have some place I needed to be? No, not really. He offered me a drink, I accepted. We wandered up along the beachfront and found a café bar. He pretended not to gaze long the lines of my bikini. I pretended to be interested in his windsurfing story.
I glided through the small talk, smiling and quipping one line jokes, without ever saying a word about myself. He offered to buy me dinner. I paused, as if considering it. My stomach growled at me at just the idea of food, I'd not eaten much the last two days. I waited though. One second. I couldn't let him see how much I wanted it. Two seconds. Besides he'd be more pleased to take me if he thought he'd won against the odds, no need to be too easy. I bit my lip as though considering my options. Three seconds is a long time to wait, a long time for him to be left hanging, a long time for me to pretend I wasn't hungry. I'd go to dinner with anyone that asked me. I smiled. Sure, why not?
He needed to meet back with his friends and so we met again in the early evening. We'd both taken the opportunity to pull on some jeans. He'd spent a while messing up his hair to make it look like he'd not bothered to prepare. I could smell the tang of his aftershave hanging like bitter-sweet fruit in the air around him. He picked a restaurant on the north shore, up above the beach. The tiled terrace offered a view of the setting sun and we watched the lights flicker on along the beach as the day darkened.
I ate linguini and concentrated on not making a mess. My first hot food this week but I forced myself to eat slowly, casually, as though listening to Hector's soothing banter was more important than something as trivial as food. He ordered a bottle of wine and I probably drank most of it. He ordered another.
When pressed, I talked about the sea, about the stars, rather than talking about myself. I watched the way the candle on the table played in the reflections of his eyes. The way his smile spread over his face like sunlight. I said things to make him smile, and when he smiled, I found I smiled too.
He said he'd seen a nice looking bar, up on the hillside overlooking the bay. I said it sounded great and I finished the wine. We walked up in the darkness, his endless chatter about everything and nothing filled the spaces between the buildings like warm foam. The wine left me heady and light on my feet.
The bar clung to the side of the cliff and we walked out onto a rickety balcony, supported only by narrow wooden uprights that leaned dramatically over the steep, stony descent. He bought drinks, vodka shots and beers, and we stood out on the edge of the balcony, defying the vertigo. I climbed out over the rail and leaned back out over the drop. He was terrified, but he hid it well.
He pleaded with me to get back on the safe side of the guard rail and I teased him by hooking my feet under it so that I could lean back over the drop with no hands. He looked like he might panic, so I climbed back over into the bar and finished my drink. I let him put his arm round me and we both giggled, him with relief, me just happy and drunk.
We danced to the music, pumped out from rough, tinny speakers and drank beer from the bottle. I tossed a bottle off the balcony and watched it spiral down to spray in brown glitter somewhere in the rocks below. He gave me a disapproving look and I laughed and kissed his cheek. His jaw was sharp with stubble and pricked at my skin. I breathed in his perfume and the underlying whispers of his sweat.
The dancing became little more than swaying, standing close together. I rested my head on his shoulder and let the music flow over me. He nuzzled against me and ran his fingers through my hair. I turned my face up to look at him and he gazed into my eyes. He leaned to kiss me and I let it happen. His lips pressed on mine gently, just for a second or so, and then he retreated again. He searched my face for a signal and I couldn't help but smile.
