“I know.”
“It feels so much more epic than just the end of a day,” she says, and I know what she means, why she's saying it, but I can't help but question if she's only talking about the sun.
“I know,” I say again, and then, without speaking, we watch the sea start to swallow the sun. The bar DJ’s song choice – a soulful, chilled-out dance track - matches the sunset’s climax perfectly and I am glad I don’t recognise the artist. I wait until the sun is almost completely submerged and then I finally look at the space it took up just a minute ago.
“You know, someone once told me that immediately as the sun goes down, sometimes you can see a flash of green light.”
“Really?” she says in a voice that's more air than anything else.
“Yeah, an optic phenomenon. Apparently, it’s when the sun’s light gets dispersed through the Earth’s atmosphere, like a prism,” I say, almost hearing Arnie’s voice in my ear. “Look out for it.”
“Wow, science is so sexy,” she says and my smile comes easier than I expect. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her head lift off the back of the lounger. Her lips pull into a pout and her chin pushes out, studying the view.
“Did you see it?” I ask, after a minute.
“No,” she says but still she looks.
“Yeah, I'm not sure it’s true. I never saw it and we watched like three hundred sunsets together that year. It's probably complete bollocks,” I say and that earns me a soft swipe on my arm as she laughs.
“So, who did you go travelling and watching sunsets with?”
I close my eyes as if the sun is still there and still shining too bright. When I open them again, I'm happy to see all of her face again as she’s moved her glasses back to the top of her head. Her eyes are big and the colour of wild honey.
“If you're not going to tell me your age tonight, then I'm not going to tell you about that,” I say.
Her head jolts back a little in shock. Of course, it's not the answer she expects. Who says something like that about someone they went backpacking with?
“Okay,” she says simply and then turns back to the horizon. “Wow, look at the colour of the sky now.”
“Nah.” I turn my body to the side once more. “I think I'd rather look at you.”
Chapter Seven
Jenna
Where do they teach twenty-four-year olds to talk like that? Is there a school in Ireland where they go and learn how to flirt unapologetically in a way that is shockingly bold, teetering on cheesy, and yet so very, very effective? And since when do twenty-four-year olds look like this? All lean muscle, manly height and five o'clock shadow defining an arresting jawline.
Thirteen.Thirteen.
That is the number that pinballs around my head and has been ever since he told me his age. I'd been hoping he was twenty-nine or twenty-eight. I'd told myself I could be forgiven for twenty-seven, maybe twenty-six. But a thirteen-year age gap? That’s quite a difference.
Of course, it had to be thirteen; the unluckiest number there is. I know that this myth is superstition and confirmation bias at their most stubborn, but still, it feels ironic, or maybe like a premonition, a warning?
Not that I’m a superstitious person. I trust science and research and fact-based evidence too much. But even so, I still believe that there are things out there that don’t have clear explanations and yet still exist, love being top of that list.
But this isn’t love, I am quick to remind myself. This is lust.
As for the literature on lust, we don’t have a comprehensive or foolproof understanding of desire, but we do have some knowledge of what makes us feel it. The hormones testosterone and oestrogen, in all genders, drive our ability to feel desire, and indeed do things to our bodies to make us more desirable to others, including the creation of pheromones. The amygdala part of the brain, always hungry for new stimuli, upon meeting someone physically attractive and soakingup some pheromones, is quick to latch onto them or repel them, which is why attraction often comes on so quickly. Once intrigued, there follows a series of powerful hormone rushes that make us feel good, rewarding and encouraging us to mate. Those tiny but powerful hits of dopamine literally tease us about what’s to come after an orgasm, when they will also be accompanied by a warm hug of oxytocin. Lust is a powerful thing because it has to be. It drives us to do the most important things of all – survive, procreate, continue the human race.
It’s also powerful for other reasons. Lust doesn’t need as much luck as love. Lust comes quicker and, in many ways, keener, readier, hungrier. Lust is more visible and lighter to hold but is still strong and overpowering. Lust is both a logical chemical reaction and a magical madness. Lust comes, and it also goes. I know enough from personal and professional experience to know that it is real and worth enjoying for as long as it sticks around, but at the same time, it simply isn’t designed to last forever. And that’s okay. That’s a good thing.
A thirteen-year age gap doesn’t matter when it comes to lust, especially when I’m a divorced woman, on holiday on a Greek island and desperate to feel a man, this man, touch my body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his mouth, his everything. If he’s willing...
That decided, I feel the last remnants of confusion and doubt slip into the sea with the sun. Now I know where this is going – and his flirtatious behaviour suggests he’s on board - I can shift all my attention to making it happen.
“So, Marty O'Martin.” I roll over to my side and look at him again. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Ooh, this sounds like a date now.” He sucks on his straw. “Or a job interview.”
