As it was her last night in town, she had taken her time getting ready, making an effort with her make-up. Two weeks in the sunshine had added natural blonde highlights to her long hair. Her skin glowed, the strained dark shadows long gone from under her eyes. Glancing in the mirror one last time, she smiled. The reflection smiling back finally looked familiar.
With a swish of her long flowing cotton skirt, she left her Airbnb apartment, walked carefully down the stairs, reaching the boardwalk within a minute, just as the website had promised. Down on the beach, the last of the day’s sunworshippers were packing up. Further along she could see a group of teenagers playing volleyball and beyond that some fishermen with their rods sunk into the sand and their lines cast out into the ocean.
Unable to resist the lure of the sand, she kicked off her sandals, scooped them up by their straps and set off barefoot across the sand, it’s soft grains still warm underfoot from the day’s sun. To her right, ocean waves crashed ashore.
Her heart wasn’t ready to leave; her mind told her it was time to head back to reality.
When she had booked the trip that she’d dreamt of for so long, she’d told everyone “What I really want to experience is sunrise and sunset on the beach.” And she had…every day since she’d arrived.
Tonight would be her last sunset for a while; tomorrow her last sunrise before the Uber picked her up at lunchtime for the first leg of her journey home.
During the long dark months at home, she had checked the beachcam images of the beach and boardwalk daily. As she’d gazed at her laptop screen, she had promised herself when she finally made the trip that she would visit the bar in the foreground of the webcam view and enjoy a drink gazing out over the ocean.
The first night when she’d walked in there alone, her heart had been pounding, her anxieties crashing through her like one of the powerful ocean breakers that were breaking on the shore behind her. Walking into a bar alone was way outside her comfort zone but she knew she had a promise to herself to keep so, taking a deep breath, she walked across the room to the bar. She took a seat on a tall cocktail stool at the bar and ordered a margarita.
She’d done it. Another promise from the list honoured.
Around the same time the following evening, she’d returned to the bar for another margarita. This time it felt less daunting.
On her third night when she’d walked in feeling confident, the bartender had smiled as he saw her approach and began to mix her cocktail. When she went to pay for the drink, he told her the check had been taken care of.
There was someone sitting on the stool next to her usual spot when she entered on her fourth night.
“Chris, mix the lady’s margarita,” the stranger had instructed then turning to smile at her, said, “Good day on the beach?”
“Perfect,” she’d replied feeling a little flutter of nerves.
“Been beautiful today,” he’d agreed before introducing himself.
And so, her holiday margarita ritual had begun.
Each evening he was there waiting for her. A couple of nights they had gone for a walk along the boardwalk; a couple of nights the following week they had gone for dinner. He had been the perfect gentleman, proving to be easy to talk to and a good listener. Gradually, through casual conversation, they got to know each other, the first seeds of friendship sown over their margaritas.
When she stepped up onto the boardwalk from the beach, she found him standing watching her.
“Hi,” she called as she brushed sand from her feet before slipping them back into her sandals.
“Hi,” he greeted her as she walked towards him. “The lure of another walk on the sand too much to resist?”
“Always,” she laughed. “Going to be hard leaving here tomorrow.”
“Then don’t.”
“Pardon?”
“Stay,” he suggested simply, slipping his hand into hers. The fit instantly felt natural to her.
“I can’t….” she began.
Gazing down at her, he said, “What if you gave yourself permission to say yes?”
The next promise on the list waiting to be honoured was “be happy”.
Coral McCallum 