“Do you know what it’s called?” she asked him, looking up at him from her phone.
“El Yunque,” Maurice said, nodding toward the peaks catching late sun.
She smiled big and returned to her texting. “I knew you’d know. You seem like the research type.”
Before he could say anything else, something made her laugh loud and strong. She looked up from her phone at him, eyes big. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I swear.” She waved her phone between them. “These heffas are bad influences.” Another notification made her laugh more.
He liked it. Her laugh. A lot.
Maurice leaned against a short stone wall, watching her tap into a sensation he couldn’t remember knowing for himself.
She scrunched up her face. No longer laughing.
He was at her side in two strides. “What is it?”
She turned her phone to him, but all the names and emojis moved too fast for him to catch on.
“They want me to send them a video.”
“And that’s bad because?”
She shoved his shoulder and sucked her teeth. “Whatever.”
This time,helaughed. The warmth in his chest and cheeks that Monique inspired had quickly become an addiction.
It took less than thirty seconds, but Monique turned in a slow circle with her phone before she gasped. “Mo, look at that!” She took off toward a narrow cut of a walkway that led to a watchtower.
He moved fast after her as her dress whipped in the wind like a kite, her laughter the string he was desperate to hold onto.
“Hold on. Are you still recording?” he called after her.
“Oh shit,” she said, turning the lens on him. “Isn’t this cool?” She pocketed her phone and looked at him like his opinion mattered.
“Very cool, Monique.”
Her smile faltered there within the dark cover of the small watchtower. He stepped closer, his body filling the doorway and blotting out the bustling Paseo de la Princesa behind him.
She was silhouetted by deep blue sparkling waters. Her short curls bounced in the salty wind.
She stepped forward. So did he.
So, the sea breeze smelled like her.His mind was quiet for the first time in decades. Was it the island or was it Monique? How could he hold onto this feeling? He couldn’t stay in Puerto Rico, but could he and Monique…
Looking up at him with the stars and sea in her eyes, he struggled to speak. “I…” he finally began again, “would like to get to know you more.”
She took another step toward him. “Okay.”
Both their phones pinged with text alerts, staunching whatever was flowing between them.
Glancing at her phone, Monique swore under her breath and fumbled with the device. “Didn’t stop the video. Dammit.”
The rapid shift to frustration didn’t surprise him. Monique was just vocal while he had never dared.
With his lips pressed in a tight line, Maurice read the string of texts. “They’re asking if we’re linking up for dinner.”
Monique looked up at him with an unspoken plea. Her right hand went to a spot near her left shoulder and rubbed.
“I’m content with whatever you want to do, though.” His answer was enough to still her hand. He didn’t know her story yet. But he knew she had one.