“Yes,” she says, and it makes me smile more than it should.
“Then let's keep going left,” I say as I place my hands on the tops of her thighs, close to where they meet her hips. I think about the stretchmarks she has there, and I want to feel them under my tongue again.
A moment after we set off, I can no longer fight the urge.
“Mock!” I call out into the warm air that rushes past.
“Yeah!” She sings back, after only a second.
“King!”
“Yeah!”
“Bird!” I holler.
“Yeah!” Our laughter drowns out the noise of the few vehicles that pass us.
We weave our way around a coastal road that takes us through a few small villages, past garages, hotels and one or two other luxury resorts. Then the road turns up and climbs away from the shoreline, which is when I start looking for the turning. As soon as I see it, I squeeze my hands on her waist and lean forward as close to her ear as our helmets allow.
“Take that road on the right,” I say.
She does, but slows down when she realises it's little more than a gravel path.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I squeeze her again. “Trust me.”
As we descend the bumpy, uneven path that is littered with potholes, I relish how her body moves, bouncing and jiggling under my hands. When the low-lying trees and shrubs lining the path start to dissipate, I crane my neck above Jenna's shoulder and see the deep azure blue of the Mediterranean because we are now on the western coast of Crete. A moment later, the path reveals where I am taking us.
It's not the prettiest beach in the world. The sand is a dusky yellow and is littered with boulders and rocks. The water doesn't rush in and there are no crashing waves, thanks to a natural sea barrier created by the incisive curve of the mountain we just turned off. Instead, the water smoothly laps against the sand, making just enough noise so a gentle swooshing rhythm can be heard. But it's that stillness that I noticed and craved when I was up on the mountain path with Dad yesterday morning. That and the way the beach is only accessible by that long makeshift road, and being low season and mid-week, there aren’t any of the locals I suspect keep this beach a secret for themselves.
We have it all to ourselves.
“We're here,” I say as Jenna parks before a dilapidated wooden fence that marks the beach’s beginning. I scan the sand in front of us and see exactly what I want to see. I climb off with her bag.
Jenna is silent as she takes off her helmet and looks around her. I can't tell what she's thinking but her shoulders are low and relaxed and when I move to get closer to the sand, she climbs off and follows me.
“Where are we?” she asks, approaching me from behind.
“I'm not entirely sure, but I can show you on a map. That's how I showed it to your brother.”
“Jake? Why did you show him?”
“Because of this,” I say, and I nod to the blanket and parasols arranged on the sand. Under one of the large umbrellas that have the resort’s white and blue stripes, is a picnic hamper, a cool box, four towels rolled up, and a sports bag. I grin at how perfect it looks, even better than I expected. I really do owe her brother and I’m still not sure how I’m going to pay for it all, but I will worry about that another time.
“What's that?” Jenna says as she comes up to stand by my shoulder.
“You know, I have no idea! None in the slightest! I am completely confused!” I wave my hands around in a dramatic fashion before turning to her and gripping her hand in mine. “Let's go find out!”
We half-jog, half-skip across the sand towards the blanket.
“Did you do this?” Jenna says as she lifts the lid on the hamper, and I see bread rolls, plates, glasses, cutlery, and napkins inside.
“Who, me?” I say pressing my hand to my chest, my expression and tone possibly a little camp.
“Oh,” she says when she frees the top of the plastic cool box. “Champagne.”
“Well, actually I didn't organise that,” I say because for obvious reasons I’d not mentioned booze.
