CHAPTER 13: MORINA
1633 Words
Like the ocean rocking me to sleep, the sun’s warm rays nudged me awake. I watched it rise as I carried my board to the water. I nodded at two of the guys I always met early at the surf. We didn’t talk much. We were there to wake up with the water, not with other humans. The water washed over me as I dove in. It pushed my wild hair away, naturally smoothing it back the way the wind couldn’t.
The waves approached, and I ducked one after the other. Into the breeze, then into the deep. Air and water. Air and water. A rhythm the ocean created or maybe the wind did. The sun warmed us as we took our first wave, and the ocean cooled us as we fell back in before we hit the sand. The water wasn’t a place I went to think.
It was a place I went to escape and be held hostage at the same time. I needed this. I was addicted to it but it was one of the only places I felt free. As the air got warmer and warmer, the town came to life and I rode in my last wave.
“You done for the day?” Bradley asked, not that he cared at all other than he wanted me to make him a smoothie soon.
“I’ll get the truck open soon. You can’t be that hungry.”
Bradley was about my age and had been a loyal customer since I started working the truck.
“Not like the smoothie is going to curb my appetite anyway.”
“Then go to the cafe down the street.” I knew he wouldn’t.
He scrunched his nose at me.
“And deal with the line? Nah.” I rolled my eyes and wrung out my hair as best I could.
“You’d wait in line all day for me.”
He eyed me up and down in my bikini. Although I could have lost the extra weight on my ass, he stared at it every chance he got.
“You bet I would.” He winked. I chuckled.
We had a good friendship. Comfortable. And when we were both single, we’d indulge every now and then. With a full head of dark hair and a buff body, Bradley was a good amount of fun. The butterflies weren’t there, and I’m sure his heart wasn’t connected to mine in a passionate way, but we scratched one another’s itches when we wanted.
Except this last week, no one could seem to scratch the itch the way a certain man in a jet had.
“Give me ten, and I’ll have a Pink Princess ready for you.”
“Can you consider changing the name of that?” he yelled after me as I rushed away.
I saw a few people idling by the truck, which meant they wanted a morning fix too. It wasn’t the norm. I usually had time to open and get dressed in some of the wrinkled clothing I stashed in a ball somewhere in the truck.
I waved at a couple of guys I knew, one was a surfer, and then did a double take when I saw a black Rolls-Royce idling in the parking lot. One I’d seen before. One I’d ridden in just a week before. My stomach flip-flopped and a wave of queasiness followed.
Not good. Sweating, I avoided the itch to duck down and hide. As embarrassing as it was to admit, I actually gasped at the sight of both Dante and Bastian exiting the vehicle. Tall, built, and all straight lines in their black suits.
Their shoes shone like they were made of diamonds, and as my eyes trailed up, their faces didn’t disappoint either. Both faces I knew. Both faces I thought I’d never see again. Bastian smiled like he’d heard my gasp. My mouth snapped shut.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes but not before witnessing how when he smiled it didn’t really meet his eyes. Not the way it had that night. His face had held youth and some sort of humor and connection with me on that jet. I’d felt like we belonged in the same universe.
But now, he was devoid of any emotion. He could have been on Jupiter, light years away, with the look he’d plastered on his face. Then his eyes cut away from me and I saw him scan the beach, like he was making mental notes.
My grandmother dealt with men like that. She said it was business, and the part of me that was happier being in the dark let it slide. Those men walking toward my food truck were nothing but bad news. Bad news and a one-night stand I wanted to forget. Instead, he walked toward me, more lethal in the sunlight, like the night had cloaked his danger.
He was ready to haunt me in the daylight rather than my dreams. As I opened the metal back door into my little sanctuary, I didn’t bother grabbing the ball of clothes in the corner. It was hot enough that I could make smoothies in a bikini anyway. It might be one of the last warm days, even with the chill in the air.
The seasons were changing, just as my life would be soon. I threw some strawberries, yogurt, pineapple and ice into the mixer as I leaned back to see who was in the window. My first customer was an older surfer who switched up his drink every other day.
“Jonah, what can I get you?”
“What are you making there?”
“The Pink Princess for Bradley. He likes them prissy.” Jonah chuckled and turned to wink at Bradley who flipped him off.
Then he shrugged and nodded toward the mixer.
“I guess I like them prissy too. Add another to the blender.”
I dropped in all the ingredients and threw in two bags of my spice. I ground up cinnamon sticks, both chia and flax seeds, agave powder, and other nutritional additions that added a pop of flavor. After adding a cube of frozen wheatgrass, I pressed the button.
As a longer line formed and I took down more orders, I spotted the suits moving slowly toward my truck, waiting their turn. Both of them scoped out the area like it was for some sort of sale. They’d soon learn this place was priceless, owned only by the water and the land. The seagulls may have had a few pieces of it too.
I handed another Pink Princess to the next customer and grabbed my hanging chalkboard sign as the beautiful men descended upon my food truck. Suddenly my little window was letting in too much sun.
Scribbling a few additions to my chalkboard, I didn’t look up as I said, “What can I get you?”
Normally when I got a newcomer, I’d welcome them and offer the list of special drinks, but men dressed so nicely where the sand dirtied you up and made you one with the beach irked me. Especially when one of them was a man I’d slept with and hoped to never see again.
“I don’t know.” Bastian's hair curled every which way.
Did he style it to look that good or had he been born with that rich color and perfect wave?
“You don’t have a menu written out yet for me to choose from.” I shrugged as I kept writing.
“Well, most everyone got the Pink Princess smoothie today.”
“The owner of this company probably wouldn’t like to know that the girl he hired isn’t giving customers her full attention or all the options.”
“The owner of this truck is just fine with it. She thinks guys in suits who come and demand all the options are sort of rude,” I deadpanned.
Then I leaned through the window enough so they would both have to step back. Hanging the sign to the left, I pointed theatrically.
“Oh, look, a menu!”
“Pink Princess, Kiss of a Rainbow, and Black-Suit Pricks?” Bastian hesitated on the last one.
His smile after was swift, though, like he had a sense of humor after all. That smile dimmed everything else on the beach that day. It was deadly, brilliant, and quite frankly, the most beautiful thing I’d seen besides the ocean water.
His dark eyes sparkled just like it when he smiled, but the darkness hid something deep down that I knew I didn’t want to find.
“Pick your poison, boys.” I folded my arms over my chest, and his eyes flicked up and down my body.
“Morina.” He said my name, and it sounded like it had in the plane right after we’d slept together.
He’d pushed my hair from my cheek and murmured it softly like I was the only woman in the world. Maybe I had been that night. This was reality though, far from sunrises and private jets. And he wasn’t supposed to be in my reality. At all.
“How did you find me, and why did you even look?” I glared at him.
His eyes widened, clearly shocked with my question.
“I didn’t come looking for you. I’m looking for the owner of this truck.”
“That’s me,” I threw back.
“No. That’s impossible. Maribel owns this truck.”
My grandmother’s name rolled off his tongue with ease but it hit me like a bullet.
“Maribel Bailey is my grandmother. She gave this to me.” His gaze whipped to Dante who immediately started tapping his phone screen.
- Writer
