Where Sea Meets Sky

He smiles at me sheepishly, and for a moment he looks away, biting his lip. When he looks back, he is all charm.

“I guess ‘surprise’ won’t really suffice, will it?” His accent, combined with the deepness of his voice, is turning me into a puddle of goo. He and his friends walk over to me. He gestures to the short one. “Gemma, this is Tibald. That’s Michael and Schnell. Schnell is actually a lot more fun than he looks.”

I barely look at the other guys. I’m staring at Josh, still trying to make sense of what’s happening in front of my eyes. The memories of that night come flooding back like it was just yesterday. The feel of his hands, the stroke of his tongue, the brush of his lips. My mouth opens but I’m not sure what to say except “what the fuck?” Luckily, the guy he called Tibald comes forward and extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Gemma!” he says enthusiastically, pumping my hand before taking his back and looking at it. “Nice shake you got there. Listen, Josh has said . . . well, not too much about you but what he has said has been very nice.” He shoots him a look over his shoulder. “I’ve been assuring him that he’s not too big of a stalker, but I suppose that’s up to you to decide. He almost didn’t come here today.”

Josh presses the back of his hand into his eyes and groans. I can’t help but smile, even though the word stalker is ringing in my ears a bit. He’s not actually here for me, is he? I mean, I know I invited him to New Zealand but he hadn’t taken it seriously at the time.

“So,” I manage to say and fumble for the rest of the sentence. “What—what are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice to see you.” Because it is nice to see him. Despite how weird the whole situation is, it is almost a relief to be staring at him again.

Josh glances at the Germans, who are staring back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match. “Hey guys, why don’t I go and meet you at the beach?”

Even the Schnell guy smiles.

“No worries,” Tibald says with a wink. I’m surprised they don’t all go “ooooooh” like a bunch of primary schoolers. They all give us a wave and disappear out the door. Now there is only Nina, who has abandoned her book and is staring at us with keen interest as she sips her bottle of L&P soft drink. She’s probably wondering what I’m doing with this guy who so doesn’t fit in here. I know she doesn’t care enough to say something to Nick, but I’m suddenly feeling on display.

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask him, gesturing to the door.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your day, I just wanted to say hello.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I say reassuringly. “And like I’d let you say hello and just leave.”

“Well,” he says, scratching at his head, his expression bordering on a wince, “after the term stalker was just used, I wouldn’t blame you for running far away.”

I give him a wry look. “Hey, I can take care of myself.”

His eyes trail over my body and I can feel the heat in them. “I definitely believe you can. You’re looking good.”

“Sweaty and gross is preferable to purple-haired and drunk?”

“You know I’ll have any version of you.”

My stomach swirls, feeling peppery and light. His gaze is back to mine, holding me in place, and I’m captivated by the icy depths of his blue eyes. His presence is doing a million things to me—bad, unacceptable things.

Nick. I’m seeing Nick. I am with someone else. I shake some sense into me and shoot him a smile but Josh is already looking away, putting a subtle amount of distance between us. It’s probably for the best.

“Come on,” I tell him, touching him lightly on his arm. His skin is both soft and warm and rough, and I want to touch him again but I shouldn’t. I don’t. I walk to the door and open it. He follows and we step outside into the blinding heat.

“There’s a park around the corner,” I tell him, “has a lot of shade.” I glance at his jeans. “You must be hot.”

He laughs, low and rich. “Yeah, I didn’t really pack for the whole summer thing. I was at least expecting a Vancouver-like spring. You know, rain and more rain.”

“Normally we do get nothing but rain in Auckland, but summer has come early this year.” I pause and notice I’m staring at him a bit too much. I turn my gaze to the street. “So, erm, what brought you to New Zealand? I mean, how did you find me?”

He clears his throat, sounding a bit uncomfortable. “Uh, well, I guess a few things we talked about, you know, that night, kind of resonated with me. It took time but I couldn’t stop thinking about just packing up and leaving. Going off on my own, someplace new. The things you said . . . I wanted to feel that, discover it for myself. You gave me a push in the right direction.”

I smile. I actually affected someone. It feels good. “And your job? You were working as a cook, right?” I phrase that as if I don’t remember every single thing I learned about him.

“I quit,” he says proudly. “I got into art school for the spring semester, so I figured it was as good a time as ever to quit and do something else, something more . . . rewarding? Something less shitty and life-draining, anyway. Still don’t know what, but at least being here buys me some time to think and figure it out.”

I feel a pang of jealousy over his art school. I shouldn’t—I should feel happy for him, and I am, but it’s a bit buried under the sharp stab of yearning. That should have been my future, not the one I was currently staggering through.