Where the Waves Taught me Love

Chapter Thirteen: Puerto Selva

The boat jerked to a stop, and my body swayed with it, almost knocking me straight into the baskets of fish behind me. I clutched the edge of the bench, glaring toward the shore like it personally offended me.

We were finally here.

The island looked… noisy. Too noisy. People were everywhere—barefoot, tanned, shouting at each other in a language I barely understood. Some of them were hauling nets straight from the sea, water glistening on their arms, fish still flapping inside. Others were balancing baskets filled with crabs, shells, and—oh God—what looked like octopus tentacles dangling over the edge.

I wanted to scream.

The driver turned to me, clearly impatient. “Miss Sabrina, we have arrived. Please get off. I have other errands.”

“Just wait,” I snapped automatically, adjusting my sunglasses. The idea of stepping off this boat, onto sand, while wearing my favorite heels made my skin crawl.

He didn’t look impressed. “Miss, the tide—”

But before I could argue, the man hopped down first and held his hand out to me. “Come on. I will help you.”

I stared at him. At the wet sand. At the disgusting seaweed and random shells scattered everywhere.

“This is not giving,” I muttered under my breath.

Still, I had no choice. I grabbed his hand, careful not to let the heel of my Louboutins sink into the wet ground, and awkwardly climbed out. The sun hit me full force, so blindingly hot that I immediately pulled out my sunscreen from my bag and began applying it on my arms.

If I was going to be stranded here, at least I wouldn’t get sun damage.

The driver quickly unloaded my suitcases, placing them right on the sand—on the sand—and I wanted to scream all over again. “Seriously? Could you at least put them on something dry?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. This is all we have.” He didn’t even wait for me to argue before jumping back into the boat. And just like that, he left.

I stood there, staring at my suitcases like they were my last lifeline. “Perfect,” I muttered, spraying perfume over myself to cover up the horrible fish smell that clung to me from the boat ride.

All around me, life went on like I wasn’t even there. People walked past, some glancing at me curiously, some not bothering at all. A kid even pointed at me and giggled, probably because I looked like I was about to attend a runway show while standing in the middle of a fishing village.

I folded my arms, staring at the horizon.

I hated everything about this.

The noise. The smell. The heat.

I dropped down onto my suitcase, sighing dramatically. The sand was soft but hot, and I could feel it clinging to the bottom of my shoes already. I didn’t even know who was supposed to meet me, or when.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and pretended I was back in the city. I imagined Liza and Yannie laughing beside me, sipping iced coffee, gossiping about random people. But reality hit me again when the wind shifted, carrying with it the smell of drying fish from somewhere nearby. My stomach churned.

Nope. This wasn’t home.

I sprayed more perfume over myself and re-applied sunscreen, because at least I could control how I looked and smelled, even if I couldn’t control anything else.

So, who am I supposed to meet here?

I let out an exasperated groan and yanked the envelope the driver had given me earlier out of my bag. My manicured nails tore it open, and I pulled out the single sheet of paper inside.

“Zed,” I muttered under my breath, staring at the name. “That’s it? Just Zed? No last name? No picture? What is this, a spy mission?”

I crumpled the paper slightly, glaring at the horizon. “Where the hell is this person? Shouldn’t he expect me to arrive today?”

No one on this island seemed to care. The boat driver had already left, leaving me standing there like some abandoned suitcase.

With a deep sigh, I grabbed the handles of my luggage and started dragging them along the sand.

Big mistake.

The wheels immediately sank into the soft ground, refusing to roll properly. Every step was a battle, my heels sinking with each movement. Sweat was already forming on my forehead, and I could feel my sunscreen starting to mix with it.

“This is disgusting!” I groaned out loud.

I spotted a woman sitting a few meters away, crouched over a basket filled with—ugh—some kind of sea creatures. Perfect. A local. Maybe she knew this “Zed” person.

I approached, pulling my suitcase behind me like it was a crying toddler. “Hey, excuse me—”

Before I could finish my sentence, the woman looked up, grabbed one of the fish from her basket, and held it up to me. “How much?” she asked, smiling like this was some kind of business deal.

I stumbled back, my face twisting in disgust. “Ew! Put that away!”

She just shrugged and went back to sorting through her fish, as if I wasn’t even there.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, brushing imaginary dirt off my dress. I marched off in the other direction, determined to find someone else.

I stopped another man carrying a basket of crabs. “Excuse me! Do you know a guy named Zed?”

He didn’t even look at me. He just walked past, muttering something under his breath.

“Okay, rude,” I said to no one.

By now, I could feel the heat searing the back of my neck. I re-applied sunscreen right there on the beach, ignoring the weird looks from some of the fishermen.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice carrying over the sound of waves. “Is there anyone here named Zed? Anyone?”

No answer. Just the sound of nets being pulled from the water and seagulls screeching above.

My patience snapped.

I stomped my heel into the sand (which was a mistake because now my shoe was officially full of sand) and shouted, “Ugh! This is ridiculous!”

The wind blew my hair into my lip gloss, and I groaned even louder. “I hate this place already.”

Dragging my luggage felt pointless, but leaving it in the middle of the beach felt worse. So, I kept going, weaving between baskets of fish and puddles of seawater until I found a small wooden bench near a shack. I sat down, pulling out the paper again.

Zed.

Who even names their kid Zed?

I looked around, scanning every face I saw, trying to imagine which one might belong to someone named Zed.

Was he old? Young? Did he even speak English? Was he watching me right now, laughing at how out of place I looked?

I groaned and threw my head back.

A group of kids ran past me, laughing and kicking a plastic bottle like it was a ball. One of them nearly hit my suitcase, and I shot them a glare.

“Careful! Do you know how much this cost?”

They just giggled and kept running.

Of course they did.

“Monteverde.”

I froze.

The voice came from behind me, low and deep, and I spun around so fast my sunglasses nearly flew off.

Standing there was a man.

Not just any man — he looked like he’d stepped straight out of some survival reality show. His sun-kissed skin glistened with sweat, his plain white shirt clung to his chest like it had seen better days, and his shorts looked like they were meant for hard work, not lounging. His hair was slightly messy, but not in the city-boy way — more like he actually worked under the sun all day.

He was… rugged. Masculine. And probably in his thirties.

I raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. “Sorry? Do I know you?”

***