Page 60 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“It’s beautiful.” I rolled my wrist to the right. The glare of the streetlamps caused the yellow beading to glisten.
“A little something to remember me by,” Julia said. Her skin shone under the soft lighting, like every photographer’s dream, and I wanted to close the gap between us.
“I don’t think I’ll forget you,” I whispered.
Oh. My. God.
I couldn’t get any more cringe.
Get a grip of yourself, Harper Fox.
I meant it though, which was a problem. I wasn’t sure how big of a problem, but it was a problem. Julia Hanlow from Long Island, studied at Brown, daughter of a surgeon, soon to be neurosurgeon, effortlessly beautiful bronze-glowing human, that Julia, was assessing me like I was part of a case study.
Did she want to kiss me too?
The sudden intense metallic trumpet vibration coming from the nearby mariachi band snapped me out of whatever trance I was in, and Julia rightly moved past my mortifying comment.
“Shall we see what’s going on?” She asked.
I nodded, unable to look her in the eye.
As we neared the beach, the band came into focus. There were five men in total, each with a different instrument. They were entertaining a large gathering crowd in a Mexican street dance. Billie and Sarah were in the thick of it, and Billie was—
“Is she trying to steal his hat?” I squinted; the sea of drunken people merged together to create a barrier around Billie until a certain part of the song where they all dispersed once again. She was being encouraged by Sarah, unsurprisingly, to steal the large black sombrero from the man holding a guitar that was almost bigger than he was.
“I think she is.” Julia laughed.
“Every. Single. Time.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Does she make a habit of stealing sombreros?” Julia asked.
“Sombreros, clothing, drinks, skateboards, you name it, she’s tried.”
“A skateboard?” Julia raised her eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“We walked past a skate park in Spain, very drunk, and Billie made a bet with one of the skaters that she could do a front something 180 or 120 or God knows what; she made a bet that she could do it, and when they handed over the skateboard she ran off with it and had me and Sarah use a blanket we bought off a random man at the beach to wrap around her and pull her down the boardwalk.”
“Oh, did she give the skateboard back?” Julia’s lip twitched.
“After she fell off and grazed her knee, yes. The guy she ‘borrowed’ it from found the whole ordeal funny.The best part, he chased us along the beach shouting, ‘Give me my spit back’.”
“I’m confused.” Julia raised her eyebrow. I used my fingers to gesture between my eyes and Sarah to indicate she needed to watch Billie.
“As was I. Apparently, Spitfire is the name of a skateboarding brand, and he was referring to his board, but hearing a grown man chase after three girls asking for his ‘spit’ back got a few funny looks from passers-by.” I recalled the day like it was yesterday. We’d gained some pure belly laughs from that experience.
“Oh shit,” she scoffed.
“She only started drinking at the age of twenty-four; it went downhill from there.” I laughed.
The song built to an almighty intensity and stopped. The echo of the guitars travelled. The cheer of the crowd erupted. The mariachi band remained still with their instruments down by their sides. The voice of the band stood centre stage; he removed his black sombrero to reveal a glossy head of hair. His moustache was perfectly aligned, no hair out of place. He introduced a couple to the dancefloor—or cobbled pavement, but for tonight’s purposes a dancefloor.
The crowds of tourists dispersed as the couple started to tactfully move their bodies fluidly from side to side, creating a square of space around them. The band began with the soothing plucks of the harp, followed by the smaller guitar in the background. The violinist and the trumpet player sat this one out. The singer’s deep voice was feathery. The couple began dancing; their hip movements were enviable. The dance was slow, romantic, and intimate. The footwork was repetitive and simple, but the real emphasis was on sensual body movement. Their bodies intertwined delicately. Theyspent the first minute mesmerising the audience without once untangling their bodies.
“Your turn.” The woman opened her arms wide gesturing for people to join in. A brave older couple stepped forwards. They tried to imitate the movement. It was sweet.
“Shall we?” Julia asked.
“Really—” The woman was making her way around, demonstrating the best way to move your hips. She caught a glimpse of Julia, palm outstretched, politely asking me to dance, and she beamed.
