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“I thought you said we were taking a kayak,” I say as we secure our helmets.
“First, we boat out to the private island a couple of miles off the coast of La Jarra. Then we kayak.”
The boat ride is longer than to Stingray Bay, and Gabe and I spend it wrapped together, the wind blowing our hair together.
I chose a turquoise bikini for this excursion because it makes me look tanner than the others. I lean against Gabe’s chest and compare our outstretched legs.
“How is it that you’re a bronzed god and I’m a plaster peasant?”
He laughs. “You’re perfect.”
“You’ll probably have to slather me in your super sunscreen when we get there.”
He leans close to my ear. “Happy to.”
We arrive at the new dock. Only a couple of tourists wander the area. Gabe rents the kayak. “Do you want a set of paddles, or should I treat you to the ride?”
“Hook me up! I want to paddle!”
Soon we’re gliding away from the pier, aiming for a small island with nothing but sand and trees. Nobody else is headed that direction.
We run the kayak into the shore, and Gabe jumps out to drag it farther onto the beach. My heart hammers. We’re really doing this. By my request.
There isn’t a soul around. Even so, Gabe tosses the backpack over his shoulder and we walk down the beach until the kayak is far behind us.
I head to the water’s edge. It’s shallow as far as I can see. Shells dot the sand, and I wander the shoreline, searching for intact ones.
I’ve amassed a collection when Gabe asks, “Thirsty?”
I turn back. He has a blanket spread. Two, actually. A thick one over a thin one. “Totally.”
“Water or booze?”
“Both.”
He grins. “In what order?”
I catch his gaze. “Simultaneous.”
“All right, then.”
He’s shucked his shirt, and the heat in my cheeks isn’t from the sun. I watch his arm muscles shift and move as he opens a small cooler and passes me an insulated bottle. “Water.”
I kneel on the corner of the blanket, mindful of my sandy feet, and pull off my cover-up before taking the bottle. I line the shells along the edge of the blue tassels as I drink.
Gabe drops ice into a clear plastic glass. He adds orange juice, cranberry, vodka, then peach schnapps.
I grin. “Sex on the beach.”
“Mm-hmm.” He passes it to me.
I take a sip. It’s sweet and cold and heavenly. “Delicious. People should drink this for breakfast.”
He lies on the blanket on his side, watching me. “I agree.”
I take another sip and glance around. “We could be the only two people left in the world, and we wouldn’t know it.”
“Best place to ride out the zombie apocalypse.” He reaches for the water bottle and takes a long drink.
