The next morning dawns too bright and too early when we wake up tangled and sweaty. We save water by taking a cold shower together and pack for a night on the mainland in Bali. My personal tour guide has offered to chauffeur me around the island and show me some of his favorite spots. I’m fluttery and excited for our first time alone together away from the sanctuary.
“Are you excited?” I ask, shading my eyes as we wait on the pier for the ferry.
Steven’s smile is like injecting sunshine into my veins. He’s opened up so much the last few weeks, I feel like I’m finally cracking through his hard shell.
“Yes and no. Sitting around the immigration building is always a drag, but I have a few ideas of where to take you once your extension is granted.”
The twinkle in his eye is devilish. His dimple always seems more pronounced when he’s up to something mischievous.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, even though I’ve never been disappointed by one of his surprises yet.
“You’ll just have to trust me.” He winks and pulls me closer. I love his scent of sun, salt, and sweat. I bury my face in the soft fabric of his over-washed tank top.
“I trust you,” I murmur, thinking the words will get lost on the wind, but the way he squeezes me tight lets me know he heard.
After two hours on the ferry, we’re both anxious to move around. We’re supposed to hop into a shuttle bus Mike booked, but Steven looks at me beseechingly.
“What do you think about driving a scooter?”
The motorbikes are all over Bali. I rode on the back a few times with Eva, but only short distances. Between the crazy traffic and driving on the left side of the road, there’s no way I feel safe driving one myself.
“Umm,” I can’t help biting my lip and Steven sees my concern.
“I’m a great driver, and I’ll get us there safely and much faster. To be honest, those vans kind of make me feel ill.” He clutches his stomach.
I know exactly what he means. I’m prone to carsickness and I didn’t love being jostled around the shuttle bus on the way to Gili Telu. God, that feels like a lifetime ago.
“Okay,” I concede. “But we both need helmets.”
“Absolutely.” The tilt to his lips makes my core burn hot. “Wouldn’t dream of driving in Bali without one.”
A few minutes later, Steven procures a bike and two flashy helmets. “Seuksma,” he says, bowing his head slightly to the shopowner. The Balinese have their own language distinct from the Indonesian used in the Gillis and other parts of the country. Somehow I’m not surprised to learn Steven is familiar with it too.
“Ready to feel the wind in your hair?” he asks, straddling the bike and holding out my helmet. “Metaphorically, of course. It’s about two hours to the immigration center in Ubud.”
I swing my leg around the scooter and realize how close we’ll have to sit. I snuggle against his back just like last night.
“Too bad there’s so many clothes between us,” I joke, and I love the rumble of his answering laughter.
“Behave back there.” He checks his mirrors and starts the bike, pulling confidently and competently into traffic.
The chaos of the wind and noise overwhelms me. After a few weeks on the peaceful island, I’m shocked by how loud and bright everything seems. I’ve gotten used to falling asleep to the gentle sounds of the ocean waves or the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar.
Bali is traffic—horns blaring and people shouting—and the smells of fresh food carts and incense mingling in the air. Dogsnip at our tires, fearless. I snuggle closer to Steven’s back and breathe him in.
It’s better with my eyes closed. I feel safe and warm when he’s all that I focus on. Soon, despite the crazy choreographed weaving of traffic, I could fall asleep on the back of a motorbike going 40 kilometers per hour. To be honest, I have no idea what that is in miles—I assume it’s fast because the wind whips our clothes around and chaps my lips.
“You okay back there?” he asks, squeezing my thigh. It tickles and I instantly perk up from half-dreaming.
“Yeah. You’re a really good driver. I’m not scared at all.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” The words send butterflies dancing in my belly. “We’re almost there.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, careful not to clunk our helmets like I’ve done several times already. I thought I might recognize some of the rice fields and shops zooming by, but it all sort of blends together. When I was here with Eva, we were rushing through everything just to keep my mind occupied. It’s so different from the calm I feel now, I nearly laugh out loud.
It’s only midday when we arrive outside the immigration office in Ubud, but I’m wiped out. Between the boat, the sun, and the wind, I feel like we’ve been awake for days.
The appointment goes by in a blink and then we’re free. Steven was the one to suggest we take a day to ourselves and make the trip to Ubud instead of the nearer facility on Lombok. I’d told him about the busy tour-hopping of my last visit and he insisted on showing me around. I can finally slow down with him.
