Page 33 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

I plant my hands on the ground with a bend in my arms, and balance my right knee above my right elbow. And then I lift my left leg high into the sky. Flying crow. I should focus on what I’m doing, but I’m listening for a reaction from him. I hear the breeze through the trees, but nothing from Orion.

thirteen

ORION

I shouldn’t be surprisedby how much I like being around her. I should be paying attention to the fort and stopping at every informational sign. But all I care about is her reaction to the fort.

I don’t have to play tour guide on charters. The deckhands and other crew know enough. My job is to sail the boat. But going above and beyond helps with tips.

I’ve clicked to her Instagram often enough to know her primary content is pictures of her demonstrating yoga poses in beautiful locations. In less than two weeks of living here, I’ve begun to recognize her spots. The section of our beach where it’s always empty. The brick wall on the side of the fire station. And of course, Paradise. It’s famous itself. Those have the most likes.

This pose isn’t one I’ve seen before. I’m in awe of the strength it must take to balance on her arms and make it look effortless. Her face is passive, as if it wouldn’t take one strong gust of wind to knock her over. I’m so mesmerized by her flexibility and strength that I almost forget I’m supposed to be taking a picture. I crouch down, making her look larger than life, andalign the horizon with the wall and her body and make sure the proportions are where I want them. Then I tap the camera button several times in quick succession.

“Got it.”

She slowly lowers to the ground and jogs over to me.

I’m prepared to go through this multiple times. When I take pictures of guests, inevitably someone blinks and we repeat the process. Carina is a perfectionist, so I expect the same process.

I don’t mind. I could stare at her all day.

A smile inches across her face as she stands close, swiping through the photos. “These are great. Thank you.” She turns toward me and I forget how to think. “You would make a great Instagram boyfriend.” She shakes her head. “For someone else, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat. I don’t feel that way. “I would hate spending all our dates taking pictures of you. The food always getting cold because it takes forever for you to pose perfectly with your wine.”At sunset. In a cocktail dress.

“Imagine being up at the crack of dawn to beat the crowds for one perfect shot.”

“I like sunrises. I wouldn’t mind that part.”

She smiles as if the idea of me being her boyfriend, following her around like a puppy, isn’t a terrible thought. She steps away, putting her phone back in her pocket. “I’ll post one later. Do you have a personal Instagram? Or should I tag Lost Craft?”

“Don’t worry about it.” It hurts that she’s not as curious about me and my social media as I am about her. That she so obviously hasn’t looked me up until now. But she’s not missing much since it’s mostly sunrises over water.

“Come on. Let me give you photo credit,” she persists.

I give her my handle, wondering if she’ll even remember it later.

We wander through the rest of the fort. She walks close to me, her body occasionally brushing mine. Every pore of my skin drips sweat in the heat the sea breeze can’t cool. She should keep her distance.

I shouldn’t want her so close.

“Do you want me to inflate a paddleboard for you?” I ask as we approach the beach. Her friends wade in the shallows, engrossed in their fishing rods and whatever story Bristol is sharing.

Carina scoffs. “Your inferior boards will probably kick me off on principle.” Her voice isn’t in the denial.

We hit sand. She pauses, her hand resting on my shoulder for balance while the other pulls her flip-flops off.

“I won’t judge you if you fall or whatever you’re afraid of. You’re a good paddleboarder,” I say. I don’t mind fighting with her over the last few days. At least I know she feels something for me. And for her, fighting is a risk.

I want her to take all the risks with me.

She lets out a huff. “No, it’s not that. It’s hot. I want to go for a swim.”

It’s hotter than hell and the only way to stay even remotely cool is to be in the water. “Sounds like a plan.” I pull off my shirt and toss it on the pile of towels and shoes the group assembled. I head for the water, eager to get some relief.

When I turn around, Carina’s stripped down to her bikini. I should look away, but I can’t. I’ve seen her completely naked, but I’ll never take for granted every inch of skin she shows. My eyes flick toward the constellation tattoo on her side, the tiny stars connected by thin lines to form a shape I know well, and I’m itching to get my hands on it.

“What?” She wades up to me, looking down to her bottoms. “You don’t like the design?”

---