Page 22 of Heart Strings

We traded beach stories for a while, then headed back to the shore. I chose to lay out in the sun and let the warm rays tease the droplets from my skin, but Al chose to stay under the umbrella. “It’s the tattoos,” he said, pointing to the various animals, flowers, eyes, faces and naval-related things that painted his skin. “They fade in the sun. Not quickly or all at once, but over time, and there are a lot of stories to go along with these.”

“Really?” The heat of the sun was already lulling me into a deep, comfortable calm. “You’ll have to tell me some of them.”

“Sure.” Warmth drenched my eyelids and relaxed my muscles. “Hey, Abby?”

“Abigail,” I corrected, the name slipping me out of my state of zen.

“Can I take a picture of us for social media? I want to start convincing Sierra that I really have moved on.”

I sat up. “Don’t you have, like…millions of followers on every platform?”

“Well…yeah. And you’ll probably be recognized by some people who know you and follow me. That’s why I’m asking and not just doing it while you’re lying there in the sun, all cozy and unaware.”

“Very gentlemanly of you,” I said dryly. “Sure. I can’t see how it would hurt me. And it could help you.”

I scooted over to Al’s towel and wrapped my right arm around him while he wrapped his left around me. He held up his phone, and I caught a glimpse of how we looked - the most handsome man I’d ever met and a girl with wet, stringy red hair framed by the sea.

“That had better help you because my hair looks terrible.” I plopped back down on my towel and let the sun turn my limbs into jelly.

“It will help. And your hair can’t look terrible. Eso es imposible.”

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