“Layla! Put that down. Don’t touch those.”
My mother’s urgent tone causes me to drop the twisted, silver seashell I just lifted into my small hand. “But I like this one. It’s pretty, Mommy. Look.” I bend to retrieve it but she grabs my hand before I reach my prize.
“Not those, baby.” She points to the jagged edge of the shell next to the swirly interior that caught my attention. “Those are broken. They have sharp edges and will hurt you.”
For the rest of the afternoon, she points out the smooth shells with perfectly rounded edges. The complete ones without flaws. They are the only ones allowed into my pink plastic bucket.
But when she isn’t looking, I snatch up one I couldn’t resist. It is dangerously twisted and curved, warped by water and whatever had torn it from the larger piece it was once a part of. It glints in the sunlight, and no matter how hard I try to resist, it catches my eye until I give in.
“Layla!”
At five years old, I’m not quite sly enough to get away with much. Nothing gets past her.
Just as I try to slip it into my pocket for safekeeping, my mother grips my wrist and forces my clenched hand open. The shell gleams proudly, giving me away.
“See? What did I tell you?” She lets the shell drop back into the sand, rejected, forgotten. She shakes my wrist gently, just enough to distract me from seeing where it fell.
Surprise and confusion crash over me like an ocean wave. My hand is bleeding. Not horribly, but enough to sting once I see it.
“Stay away from the broken ones, sweetie. They’ll only hurt you.”
She says it twice more as she cleans and bandages my cut back inside our small, rented bungalow.
Softly, too low for her to hear, I mumble under my breath once she’s out of the room. “But I like the broken ones.”
Iwake up sweating. For a moment, I swear I can still hear the ocean. But Salobrena Beach is the closest one and there’s no way I could hear it from here.
It’s been years since I’ve dreamt of my mother. Of either of my parents. The night they were murdered in front of me still sneaks into my nightmares from time to time, but this one was different. It was a happy one, I think. Though for some reason I’m reminded of blood.
I struggle to hold on to the image of my mom in a floppy black hat and a polka-dot one-piece. I can still remember wanting to be just like her when I grew up. But the dream vanishes like a vapor dissipating into the darkness.
I realize I’m in bed alone, and for a second, I’m confused. But then I remember my boyfriend is out of town for work.
He’ll be home tomorrow and I’ll tell him. Even though I was thirteen when I lost her, I’m hoping I might get to be just like my mom after all.
“Hey, do you want to have dinner at The Cantina or that new place we talked about trying out?” I ask my boyfriend as he enters our apartment and puts his gear down. “Or would you rather I cook something? I know you need a shower but I’m starving.” And I have news. Important news I’m hoping won’t freak him out. Or piss him off.
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He comes over and places a kiss on my forehead. “Hello, by the way. Missed you too.”
He’s been in Barcelona for two weeks with his job. It’s only about eight hours from our apartment in Granada where I attend school, but I have a medical condition and don’t drive so time apart is brutal. Landen is a professional soccer player. Hottest one on the team, in my opinion. In the league, if I’m being honest. And the fact that he agreed to live within walking distance of the School of Public Health I attend instead of closer to his job is just one of the many ways he’s demonstrated his devotion to me, to us. I’m a lucky girl.
“Missed you back.” I press my lips against his, the tightness in my stomach reminding me that I missed him even more than I realized. I’ve been so busy with classes and Bridging the Gap, the organization I volunteer with, that I haven’t had time to think about it much. When we first moved to Spain, I missed him like crazy every time he went out of town. But somehow I’ve made a life for myself here.We’vemade a life for ourselves. And it’s home. I glance around our apartment, proud of myself for the little touches I worked so hard on. Earthy colors are in the curtains, lamps, wall art, and picture frames that adorn our living room. I love it here, love the cozy space that is just so…us.
And now that Landen’s here, wrapping his strong arms around me, I never want him to leave again.
“Wanna jump in the shower with me?” he asks, yanking his shirt over his head in one swift movement, leaving me speechless. No matter how many times I see the tight, tan muscles of his athletic body, I still get all hot and bothered.
I lick my lips and try to think straight. “Um, I do. But I’ve already showered. And I’m seriously hungry.”
Pulling me to him, Landen growls in my ear. “I’m hungry too, babe. Starving, actually.” His warm, wet tongue slides up my neck and I moan. “God, you taste so damn good.”
His mouth meets mine in a kiss that’s sweet temptation with a hint of something rougher.Yes, please.
Food can wait.
His hands grip my hips and lift me onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He spreads my knees and drops down on his. Every muscle in my body goes soft, and I can’t help but moan as he slides my skirt up my thighs.
Raking my hands through his hair as he drops fiery kisses on my upper legs, I feel the smile spread across my face. “I love you so much.”
