She’s wearing a black, low-cut, one-piece bathing suit that on someone else, might be modest. But the body it’s hugging should come with a warning sign that reads “Carter Bosch’s Kryptonite.”
Her small, full breasts spill out the sides of the suit and her tiny waist flares out to rounded, swaying hips. From there, smooth, tanned skin sets off her long, shapely thighs and legs.
I stop when I’m close enough to touch her and take in every riveting and fascinating thing distance and the fading light hadn’t let me see.
She’s wearing small, gold earrings in the shape of some sort of flower and an impossibly delicate gold chain dotted with diamonds wraps around the base of her throat. They sparkle like stars in the firelight.
There’s a small flower shaped birth mark on the rise of her left cheekbone. A thin line of freckles arcs out from like the tail end of a shooting star and disappears into her hairline
And her hair isn’t scraped back. It’s cut short and and hugs the delicate curve of her scalp in dark waves that taper to curly wisps at her nape.
It leaves a clear view of her striking bone structure and her long, elegant neck and a tell tale trail of dried tears on her each of her cheeks.
It’s so at odds with the contentment in her smile that, before I can think better of it, I reach a hand out to touch her.
She stops dancing and her eyes pop open, and my breath catches in my throat. For some reason, I’d expected them to be brown, not the deep azure blue that greets me.
Her eyes narrow and move to my hand, it’s still suspended between us, and I drop it to my side.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been looking for you and when I saw that you’d been crying, I just—”
“I wasn't cryingWhy have you been looking for me?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip, impatience and annoyance are etched on her face.
But, before I can answer her, a loud burst of laughter cuts through the din , and she turns toward it and her jaw tightens. I follow her gaze to see her looking at a small group of people gathered by a small, campfire on further up the shore.
A scuffle has broken out between a man and a woman sitting with them. She shoves the him hard enough that he falls. She picks up a cup and pours whatever’s in it over his head and then turns with a shriek and runs while he chases her.
“Such idiots,” she mutters.
“They’ve been at it all day,” I remark.
She look back at me and her lips twist in disdain. “More like their whole lives.”
I grimace in sympathy “They’re friends of yours?”
She nods and, what looks like, resignation settles on her face. “I should probably head back to them.”
I chuckle. “You say that like you’re about to get on a roller-coaster you’ve been peer pressured into riding.”
Her dark brows knit together, and a frown tugs at her lips. “That’s exactly how I feel.” Her eyes come back to me, and she cocks her head to one side. “How’d you know?”
Telling her I feel the same way eighty percent of the time would be saying too much. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out the piece of paper I’ve been carrying around and hand it to her. “Maybe the same way you knew all this.”
Her lips part on a surprised gasp and her eyes are wide with accusation as she snatches it. “Where’d you get this?”
“You dropped it. I’ve been holding onto it in case I saw you again. It’s incredible.”
She clutches the paper to her chest and lifts her skeptical gaze to scan my face. “Really? You don’t think it’s weird?”
“A little, but since it’s me, I guess that means I am too.”
Her gaze softens, and she looks down at it and smiles. It was me – but not like I’d ever seen myself. She’d given me blurred clock faces for eyes and an arrowhead for a nose and when I looked at it, I recognized the impatience, restlessness, and disquiet I was feeling when I first got here. But the winged insect she’d drawn where my mouth should have been stumped me. “The bee…you gave it butterfly wings?”
She smiles wider, revealing a row of straight, white teeth with a tiny gap in between the two front ones. My heart skips a beat.