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“I’d like that.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and licks her lips.Dios mío, her mouth is sensual and I’m thinking about all the things I’d like her to do to me with her mouth.
“So, Amaury. Can I ask how old you are?”
“Thirty-six. And you?”
“I guess it’s only fair since I asked you.” She grins. “I turned twenty-nine in July.”
“What day?”
“The twenty-first. And you, when is your birthday?”
“July fourteen.”
We exit the restaurant and stop at the corner. Before pressing the walk button, I ask, “¿Quieres ir a la playa, to sity escuchar el mar? Look at the stars.” Sitting on the beach to hear the sounds of the ocean is something I have to do regularly. She nods in agreement.
Even from here, two blocks from the shoreline, I can hear the ocean’s roar; smell the salty air and as usual, my mind wanders back to Cuba and the nights I would spend alongEl Malecon, the waves crashing against the wall, drenching the sidewalk.
El Maleconis a five-mile stretch of seawall in Havana, often referred to as the soul of Havana. The promenade crosses through several city neighborhoods and shields the city from the ocean, which at times gets angry: the loud spray of the waves hitting the wall. It’s like the city’s outdoor lounge and alongEl Maleconyou’ll find tourists and locals, lovers strolling hand-in-hand or friends hanging out on hot days in hopes of the ocean spray cooling them off. Most days culminate with a sunset rivaled by no other. Although the beach here is not the same as back in Cuba, it connects me to my former home.
The night air is warm yet the steady breeze rolling off the ocean cools the skin. I look over at Sol who is untying her cardigan from her waist and pushing her arms through the sleeves, wrapping the front closed. She’s cold, even though it’s not cold outside. I stretch my arm and wrap it around her, pulling her into me as we walk to my car. “This okay?” I ask. She nods and smiles, leaning into me as we continue to stroll down the sidewalk.
“Just need to grab the sheet from my truck for us to sit,” I tell her as I open the trunk of the Tahoe.
“You didn’t bring your scooter either,” she says.
“No, I was in Broward today and came right here on my way back,” I respond, tightening my arm around her as we continue toward the beach.
With the sheet in one hand and my other arm draped across Sol’s shoulders, we cross the street and reach the sand. The moon is not quite full, a small sliver missing from the bottom rim, its reflection glaring off the dark ocean water, illuminating the night sky and the strip of water beneath it.
I spread the old, tattered sheet out and sit, leaning back on my elbows while I wait for Sol to join me.
“I’ve never been to the beach at night,” Sol tells me, as she sits cross-legged to my left.
“¿Nunca?” I raise an eyebrow, taken aback that it’s her first time visiting the beach at night.
“No. Growing up in Boston I’d go to the beach three or four times a week during the summer, but we’d leave early.”
“La playa de nocheis beautiful. I come for calm. For peace. A place for me and my thoughts. There’s no one at the beach and you really listen to what’s around you, and what’s inside of you.El silenciois heavy but I always feel better. I like coming at night more than the day.Es mí lugar favorito.It’s also the only place I feel connected to Cuba.”
The beach has always been my favorite place, especially as a young boy in Cuba because it’s the one place I felt carefree. Then as teens we’d spend so many days and nights there. The island of Cuba is surrounded by pristine blue waters and white sand beaches. A beauty I’ve yet to see anywhere else. After so much destruction of its cities, the beaches are the only beautiful thing left in Cuba.
“It’s definitely different. So quiet, relaxing.”
“En CubaI would spend many nights at the beach, listening to the waves, have fires, be with friends, and even sleep there. Some of my best memories of Cuba are from the beach.”
“How long have you been here?” she asks.
“Twelve years.”
Sol lies back and props her head up with her right hand. “Why did you leave Cuba?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Soledad
For the past several days I’d been nervous about today. It would be the first time I was going on a date since the night I escaped from Carmine’s clutches. Despite being excited because I am attracted to Amaury, I’m also scared because I have to trust a man again. My relationship history isn’t great, and although I’m sure I’m partly to blame, my father abandoning me as a child doesn’t help the situation. I know I can’t punish Amaury for Carmine’s actions, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m anxious about it. There’s something about him that makes me feel at ease, but I haven’t spent enough time with him yet to know what it is. Besides, I had good feelings about Carmine the first time we went out and look how well our relationship ended. I already promised myself I would take it slow with him, which is why I chose to meet him at the restaurant. This way, if I get any weird vibes, I can thank him and drive home.
Last week when I saw him at the scooter shop it was a surprise, albeit a nice one. I had thought about calling him once I settled into my new apartment and job, but fate intervened for us. When he asked me out, I wanted to say yes, but my anxiety about moving too quickly took over and prevented me from it. A lot of good it did me considering he called me later that night and by the end of the conversation, I had agreed to have dinner with him.
