‘What do you think?’ he says, emerging to catch his breath not far from me. It’s like looking into the eyes of my soulmate. As though he can see through me. He can sense the turmoil I’m in, the toll of the past few years bumping against the fear of being in my late twenties without a clue of what my future holds and no mother to guide me.
Splash, splash.
Yes, please. A thousand times yes.
‘Might be harder but it’ll be worth it.’ His face is lit up like a Christmas tree, reminding me of Lois.
‘Harder?’ I say. I suppose he’s got a busy job to do, never mind keeping a new relationship under the radar from his boss. Our heart-to-heart last night must have made him rethink taking a chance on love. ‘Harder but worth it!’ I repeat back to him. My heart is beating so fast, I’m having palpitations.
Splish, splash.
My arms and legs are going like the clappers under the water to try and keep me afloat. I’ll drown if he says anything else. I can’t believe he’s being so calm about asking me out.
‘No, not harder.’ Cam swims towards me. ‘I said wait until you taste the michelada.’
‘Michelada?’
‘You’ll love it. It’s authentic spicy beer.’
‘Spicy beer?’ I splutter. Who the fudge wants spicy feckin beer?
He’s nodding enthusiastically. ‘Brewed with ancient cenote waters. Totally worth the one-hour trek, you think?’
And our potential union? What about that? I am so aghast at my obvious mistake I need to take five. I point to the jetty. I need some time out to have a word with myself. Of course, I can’t compete with a model turned fashion editor. Why would he be interested in me?
‘Good idea,’ he says. ‘Let’s do the zip wire again.’
Fudge.
* * *
‘I can’t wait to try this,’ Cam says as soon as we have dried off and made our way back to the car. ‘I googled it and the best place to get michelada here on the Yucatán Peninsula is this local street-food vendor back at that village. It looks incredible.’ Cam is giving off major excited tourist vibes.
I am still reeling from my near miss at being caught out thinking he meant we get together physically and emotionally, instead of just for food. Still, thank goodness for small mercies. It’s not Cam’s fault I’m finding him increasingly magnificent with every passing second. Although sadly, it would seem I’ve barely made an impression on him other than my leanings towards being fraudulent and deceptive.
Apart from that though, I am buzzing. Tingling from top to toe at the cenote experience. What a thrill. Me on a zip line hurtling through a sinkhole in the jungle. The cenote has more than made up for my awful first few days here.
‘This has been one of the best mornings of my life,’ I say. ‘I’ll go anywhere and do anything. What did you say the spicy beer is called? Bring it on!’
WHO. EVEN. AM. I?
This makes Cam beam even more widely. He turns the radio up and Mexican salsa music floods the car as we race through the leafy road towards our next destination.
* * *
Two hours later and I amstuffed. We have eaten the best tacos and the creamiest guacamole and drunk the spiciest beer I have ever encountered in my life.
‘It’s like an explosion in my mouth,’ I say in awe. ‘I have nuclear warheads detonating in my brain.’
‘I know,’ says Cam, agog. ‘My taste buds are screaming for more. Who knew food and beer could taste so good?’
He’s not wrong. We have eaten our way through the menu. It is delicious, even though they put chillies in the beer! Chillies in beer!
PING.
‘Excuse me. I’ll have to get this,’ says Cam, sliding off his stool, phone clamped to his ear. He struggles to get reception and disappears outside while I look around at the authenticity of this place. The hotplates sizzling away behind a cloud of steam as the chef cooks everything in the centre of the bar. Fresh colourful ingredients are being tossed high in the air, releasing an aromatic hiss as they land. People are chatting away and clinking glasses. I look down to admire my new outfit. I blend in perfectly. The gummy lady was right. The denim shorts and beautiful embroidered peacock-blue top are very flattering. She has given me an orange and pink swirly patterned poncho to go over it and a floppy purple hat. I’ll look like a bird of paradise. Even though I have piled my drying hair on my head out of the way, I get a sudden urge to shake it free to try on the big floppy hat while Cameron is taking his call.
I undo the elastic and my hair cascades down my back, soft and shiny thanks to the magics of the ancient cenote water. I run my hands through it and swish it this way and that, as though I’m in a hair commercial. When I open my eyes, Cam is standing right in front of me, staring. My heart skips a beat in response.
