“Oh, did you?” Nico puts a hand over his chest to steady himself. “Took about three years off my life. Remind me to never go to a shooting range with you.”
“Har, har. Your English is very good, you know.Toogood.” I pivot, pointing an accusatory finger. “How did that happen?”
Nico squints at the place where it touches near his heart, an expression I can’t read in his eyes. “Took you a minute.”
“I noticed the second I met you. I was just a little distracted.”
“How could I forget.” Nico quirks his lip, fixing my rod near the back of the boat. “Schools here start teaching English in the first grade. Plus, I watch a lot of American television.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
Nico opens a cooler and hands us each a glass bottle of water. “We break for the sunrise.” His tone suggests this isn’t a part of the itinerary that’s up for debate.
That’s fine with me. The truth is I’m grateful for a respite. It isn’t yet six a.m. and I’ve done more than I sometimes do in an entire day. I take a seat on the side of the boat and chug the bottle in seconds, still dehydrated from last night.
“It never looks the same,” Nico says as he sits next to me. “The sunrises and sunsets.”
“Like a snowflake?” Mari asks.
“That’s a good way to describe it. Sometimes the colors are similar, but they’re rearranged differently. A new painting every single day, with the sky as a canvas.”
“I guess I don’t pay attention to it,” I realize out loud. In Savannah, I could go see the ocean and the sunrise everyday if I wanted. My house is less than two miles from the beach. But I hardly ever do. It’s so accessible that I take it all for granted.
“That’s why on vacation you should always see the sunrise and sunset. You may never know what kind of masterpiece you’ll miss if you don’t. The sky on the Amalfi Coast is unparalleled, but I’d like to see other ones too.” Then: “Easier said than done,” he says, so quiet that only I hear it.
We are all silent as the midnight sky starts to get lighter. I sneak a sidelong glance at Nico, curious. What had he meant by that?
Soon, a half apricot of sun peeks out over the water. Powder blue and blush pink streak across the sky. A wash of vibrant orange lights up the coastline, setting it on fire. It casts a neon glow onto the rippling Mediterranean. What was flat darkness mere moments ago has transformed into a dazzling mosaic of color.
“This is that magic you were talking about, Mari,” I say. “From the unexpected bits.”
CHAPTER 12
“The fishing part is done,”Nico says. And it’s over, just like that. “The fish are hungry in the morning; now they’re full. It’s nap time.”
“I can relate,” I comment.
“Time to relax!” Nico throws his arms up, smiling. He peels off his shirt and thin athletic pants.
Up close, Nico is even more mesmerizing than he was on the beach. And in a shocking twist, he’s been hiding a drool-worthy upper thigh tattoo, the tail of which peeks out the bottom of his slim-fitting swim shorts.
One of us needs to say something, and stat, because we’re all silent and staring, so I take one for the team. “I’m definitely down for that.” Then I immediately avert my eyes and start rummaging through my backpack because I need to find something, anything, to distract me from Nico’s abs and mystery tattoo.
Anya and Mari find similar distractions. Anya digs up the end of a pen to chew on, whispering out of the side of her mouth, “You were right.Definitelyless than ten percent.”
The sun rises higher, and with it goes the temperature. Mari is the first to strip off her cover-up to suntan.
Nico cranks the volume on a small Bluetooth speaker and soon we are loose, desensitized by sheer necessity to the fact that we are sharing space with an Italian Adonis. We lounge around, and I enjoy a few nonalcoholic drinks. It’s actually very nice. Relaxing. Exactly as I hoped it would be. My hangover is already melting away. And while I won’t admit it, fishing was pretty great too. I almost get the appeal.
“Sora, look.” Mari nudges me, showing me more margin notes in her book. This time they’re about the serenity of water. “I love how this person thinks. Wouldn’t it be romantic if I could find them?”
“I think the FBI does handwriting profiling,” I suggest, only half joking. “Maybe they could help you track this person down?”
“They use that for serial killers and kidnappers, Sora,” Mari says.
“Well maybe it’s a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ kind of scenario?” I smile, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “Sorry, Mar. I think this mystery note writer is probably best left in your memory. As they say, never meet your heroes.”
“You’re probably right.” Mari sighs, flipping to the next page.
