10

The resort had been transformed into a Mexican wonderland. Barefoot shirtless men strolled around dressed in eagle feathers and vibrant body paint. Their face paint varied in colour, but each was as spooky as the next. We made our way through the cobbled streets where the essence of an old Mexico seeped from the makeshift buildings. We stopped to observe a native dance; women in long black skirts carrying giant guitars sang Guantanamera at the top of their lungs. I knew the song, but I didn't know the origin.

"I wonder what Guantanamera means?" I asked Julia.

"I think it's actually just a town in Mexico."

A woman enhanced the song with a trumpet solo right before the chorus. All five women in unison did their version of the Hokey Pokey dance; it went surprisingly well with the beat of the Cuban song. They tried to involve the queues of guests filing past to get to the different food stalls.

The daytime snack shack had been transformed into a dive bar filled with spooky wooden masks and an array of colourful spirits in unlabelled bottles.

"They look like potions." Billie lifted a large dark bottle and almost dropped it when the clatter of the saloon doors bashed against the frame of the shack. Each person that entered threw back the swinging wooden doors with force in a comical fashion. The whole experience reminded me of an old western movie I watched as a kid with my grandparents. We each took a turn pushing our way through the doors. The award for best re-enactment and for encompassing the spirit of a western cowboy went to Sarah who fully embraced the character, so much so, I almost peed.

"That was the best thing I have ever seen you do," I said between short sharp breaths.

We walked on a little further through the resort. There were street vendors galore offering a variety of food, from soft shell tacos, to tamale, to churros. Stalls packed with souvenirs lined the sidewalks. They offered everything you could imagine: authentic Mexican dresses, embroidered handbags, and locally made textiles, including pillowcases and blankets. I spent a moment by the sombrero stand, but Sarah reminded me how impractical it was to haul a giant souvenir sombrero home, so I refrained. The kind gentleman who owned the stall allowed me to pose for a picture with a sombrero big enough to act as a parasol, so I was content with that.

There were palm readers, cigar sellers, peanut vendors, and a gentleman with a small stall offering out chilli snacks hot enough to melt the inside of my mouth. He didn't understand my question regarding the heat, and the red chilli signs I swore by at home were nowhere to be seen. Everyone else found the snack to be tasty. I spent the next five minutes breathing fire like a dragon in between catching my breath and dowsing my tongue in lemonade.

We grabbed a drink from a bar serving ice cold drinks in clay cups. The small wooden sign indicated they were serving Cantaritos, made with lime, orange, tequila, grapefruit, and rimmed with chili lime powder. The citrusy drinks should've been my worst nightmare; chili rims and tequila spoke to the deepest darkest depths of my soul. The waiter informed us the clay added a mild earthy flavour; the tequila was too overpowering to taste any earth, but I took his word for it.

"Salud!" Julia clinked her glass with mine; her eye contact didn't waver. God, she was beautiful.

"This clay cup is so cool!" I took a sip and scrunched my face so hard from the sour taste I probably reversed all effects of my new anti-wrinkle cream. I snapped a picture for what would be tomorrow's daily Instagram post.

"Do you think we can take one home?" Sarah asked, suggesting it wouldn't be the first time she stole an item of crockery and probably wouldn't be the last. I could live with that. We wouldn't have had the extremely sharp steak knives or the fancy shot glasses in our apartment if she hadn't slipped them in her bag from the bougie overpriced restaurants we'd been dining in. However, I suspected the Mexican law to be more stringent.

"Don't risk it," said my voice of reason.

"You don't want two years in a federal prison, trust me," Julia added.

"Why do you sound like you're talking from experience?" Billie said.

"My dad's brother is part of the Mafia; why do you think we vacation here so much?" Julia said straight-faced. I instantly wanted to laugh, but she didn't falter. "He's coming with a few of his friends to the hotel tomorrow for dinner. I hope he doesn't cause a scene like last time." She drank the remainder of her Cantaritos without another word.

"Oh."

"Erm, okay."

"The Mafia is totally cool, right? I mean I'd love to meet someone who works in the Mafia. Do you work in the Mafia? Or are you like born into it? Is it a job, or does being an international criminal not count as a job? I'd love to know. Maybe we could sit down with him; that'd be fine, right? He doesn't like carry guns or anything, does he? Or you know, want to kill innocent people?" I nudged Sarah in the ribs to stop rambling.

"Ow."

"You're talking too much." I scowled.

"Guys, I was joking." Julia smirked.

"Oh, thank God! I was just trying to be polite, but inside I was terrified," Sarah blurted.

"No shit." I laughed.

"You hide your feelings about as well as I hide the extra pounds I put on after an all-inclusive holiday." Billie patted at her stomach. "The food baby is already developing."

"Julia, will you tell me a fun fact about the brain," Sarah asked.

Julia considered the question; she sipped her cocktail, and the chili rim left small speckles of flakes on her lips. I resisted the urge to wipe them away or lick them off. Both options would've been inappropriate.

"It has over one hundred thousand miles of blood vessels and other transport systems carrying one and a half pints of blood per minute," Julia replied.

"One hundred thousand miles? Seriously?" Billie interjected. "Surely that's impossible."

"I thought so too when I first started studying. There's enough to circle the earth approximately four times," she confirmed.

"I feel like Harper right now. You're going to laugh at me in a second, aren't you?" Sarah glanced at me and then studied Julia's face intently. There was no sign of deception .

"That's mean." I sulked.

Julia placed her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. I allowed my body to fall into hers, despite her essentially comforting me for my woeful naivety.

"No, seriously, it's true. Crazy for something the size of a small cauliflower." Julia grinned.

Billie was speechless. Sarah was watching me fold into Julia's arms like some kind of melting icicle, and all I could think about was the musky jasmine aroma oozing from her neck and arousing me by the second. When I reluctantly peeled myself from the warmth of her body, I sighed. I actually sighed out loud in front of everyone. It wasn't a—I'm upset with the outcome of this evening—kind of sigh. No, this was a—I wish you'd continue to hold me in your arms whilst I inhale your scent and nibble on your neck—kind of sigh.

Billie and Sarah had to walk away. I could see them sniggering as they rounded the corner, no doubt looking for more Cantaritos. I was left to explain myself.

"Are you okay?" Julia chuckled.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Fine. Great. Why wouldn't I be?"

At least I was fine until my mouth betrayed me and turned me into a bumbling buffoon with no idea how to be fine .

God, it was embarrassing.

I felt sorry for myself.

"You sure?" She did this cute thing with her hip, where she half bumped it into me, not enough to knock me off balance, but enough to make her presence felt. It felt like a high school flirting tactic.

Was she flirting with me?

As long as she didn't try to rub my face in sand at the beach or stick her leg out to trip me only to pull me back to safety. Cringe .

God, I hated that— tell your mum I saved your life —was the chat up line, and me as a teenager deemed that appropriate behaviour to snog someone behind the back of the science labs. Ahh, to be young again.

"I'm okay, are you?" I was, aside from feeling weak in the knees because Julia Hanlow was smiling at me in that way she smiled, like she had no idea how captivating she was. I hated that, not Julia, just that thing some people had, that overbearing sex appeal and ability to ooze charismatic energy. She could bring someone back from the dead with the electrical voltage radiating through her body, and I could barely string a sentence together without falling at her perfectly proportioned feet. I had no proof they were perfectly proportioned, but the rest of her was, so I assumed.

"Yes. I like this." She nudged me again. I was one touch away from writing SOS in the sand. My head felt fuzzy. The Cantaritos were to blame, also the three or four pre-drinks I had in the room beforehand.

I was nervous. Give a girl a break.

"Me too." I looped her arm. It felt natural to have a PG part of my body touching hers. It didn't always have to be PG—I hoped. The effects of the tequila were ready to spring to life and turn me into Tequila Harper. It was a nickname I'd never been given, but it would be appropriate were I to start climbing Julia like an un-neutered dog.

We stopped by a stall of hand-beaded jewellery. In between serving people the artisan was at work creating each piece, one intricate bead after another. The most beautiful black and yellow tones of an embellished beaded bracelet caught my eye. The artisan explained that the beads were made of glass, strung with nylon thread, and had a button closure .

"Can I take one of those please?" Julia asked. The artisan obliged, reaching for a small cloth bag to package the bracelet.

"Good choice," I observed.

"It's for you." Julia handed the artisan ten dollars.

"Really? You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." She smiled softly. "Reach out your hand."

I obliged.

Julia carefully held the bracelet underneath my wrist, buttoning it on the inside with ease.

"It suits you."

"It's beautiful." I rolled my wrist to the right. The glare of the streetlamps caused the yellow beading to glisten.

"A little something to remember me by," Julia said. Her skin shone under the soft lighting, like every photographer's dream, and I wanted to close the gap between us.

"I don't think I'll forget you," I whispered.

Oh. My. God.

I couldn't get any more cringe.

Get a grip of yourself, Harper Fox.

I meant it though, which was a problem. I wasn't sure how big of a problem, but it was a problem. Julia Hanlow from Long Island, studied at Brown, daughter of a surgeon, soon to be neurosurgeon, effortlessly beautiful bronze-glowing human, that Julia, was assessing me like I was part of a case study.

Did she want to kiss me too?

The sudden intense metallic trumpet vibration coming from the nearby mariachi band snapped me out of whatever trance I was in, and Julia rightly moved past my mortifying comment .

"Shall we see what's going on?" She asked.

I nodded, unable to look her in the eye.

As we neared the beach, the band came into focus. There were five men in total, each with a different instrument. They were entertaining a large gathering crowd in a Mexican street dance. Billie and Sarah were in the thick of it, and Billie was—

"Is she trying to steal his hat?" I squinted; the sea of drunken people merged together to create a barrier around Billie until a certain part of the song where they all dispersed once again. She was being encouraged by Sarah, unsurprisingly, to steal the large black sombrero from the man holding a guitar that was almost bigger than he was.

"I think she is." Julia laughed.

"Every. Single. Time." I couldn't help but laugh.

"Does she make a habit of stealing sombreros?" Julia asked.

"Sombreros, clothing, drinks, skateboards, you name it, she's tried."

"A skateboard?" Julia raised her eyebrow. "Do tell."

"We walked past a skate park in Spain, very drunk, and Billie made a bet with one of the skaters that she could do a front something 180 or 120 or God knows what; she made a bet that she could do it, and when they handed over the skateboard she ran off with it and had me and Sarah use a blanket we bought off a random man at the beach to wrap around her and pull her down the boardwalk."

"Oh, did she give the skateboard back?" Julia's lip twitched.

"After she fell off and grazed her knee, yes. The guy she ‘borrowed' it from found the whole ordeal funny. The best part, he chased us along the beach shouting, ‘Give me my spit back'."

"I'm confused." Julia raised her eyebrow. I used my fingers to gesture between my eyes and Sarah to indicate she needed to watch Billie.

"As was I. Apparently, Spitfire is the name of a skateboarding brand, and he was referring to his board, but hearing a grown man chase after three girls asking for his ‘spit' back got a few funny looks from passers-by." I recalled the day like it was yesterday. We'd gained some pure belly laughs from that experience.

"Oh shit," she scoffed.

"She only started drinking at the age of twenty-four; it went downhill from there." I laughed.

The song built to an almighty intensity and stopped. The echo of the guitars travelled. The cheer of the crowd erupted. The mariachi band remained still with their instruments down by their sides. The voice of the band stood centre stage; he removed his black sombrero to reveal a glossy head of hair. His moustache was perfectly aligned, no hair out of place. He introduced a couple to the dancefloor—or cobbled pavement, but for tonight's purposes a dancefloor.

The crowds of tourists dispersed as the couple started to tactfully move their bodies fluidly from side to side, creating a square of space around them. The band began with the soothing plucks of the harp, followed by the smaller guitar in the background. The violinist and the trumpet player sat this one out. The singer's deep voice was feathery. The couple began dancing; their hip movements were enviable. The dance was slow, romantic, and intimate. The footwork was repetitive and simple, but the real emphasis was on sensual body movement. Their bodies intertwined delicately. They spent the first minute mesmerising the audience without once untangling their bodies.

"Your turn." The woman opened her arms wide gesturing for people to join in. A brave older couple stepped forwards. They tried to imitate the movement. It was sweet.

"Shall we?" Julia asked.

"Really—" The woman was making her way around, demonstrating the best way to move your hips. She caught a glimpse of Julia, palm outstretched, politely asking me to dance, and she beamed.

"Yes, come on. You can do it." She placed my hand in Julia's and encouraged my movement from behind.

"Like this." She pushed my left hip forwards, then pulled back and repeated the same guidance with my right. I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing during the "Hungry Eyes" dance scene, except there was no complaint of spaghetti arms from Julia.

The singer's projection carried through the air with immense control. Julia's palm landed in the centre of my back and pulled me closer. I draped my arm over her shoulder where it felt most comfortable. Our unoccupied arms found each other, elbows bent, palm to palm, following the lead of the instructors. Julia slowly began to guide my body in the direction she was moving, almost like she'd done this before.

"I can't believe we're doing this." I looked around nervously. Billie and Sarah were too busy getting another drink to notice the intimacy.

"Have you ever danced Latin before?" Julia asked.

"No. Never."

"It's really simple." Julia leaned closer. I felt her breath warm against my neck. "It's left four beats and then right four beats. Follow my lead. "

As Julia stepped forwards, I stepped back. It didn't take me long to coordinate, and we quickly fell into the rhythm.

"You've done this before," I observed.

"Once or twice." We stepped back three beats; on the fourth, Julia popped her hip. We moved forwards three and she did the same on the fourth. This time I allowed my hip to relax, and our bodies started to simulate a swaying motion. By the second song, I was twisting my body, bending my knees, and moving my hips like a Latin ballroom dancer—kind of.

"I can't believe you're a secret dancer."

"Not quite." She stumbled backwards, and her feet colliding with mine. She threw her head back; a small laugh broke free. I dropped my hand down from her shoulder to her waist as the music slowed once again. She gripped my back, and closed the last millimetre of space between us. I could feel her stomach exhale. I could feel her legs tense against mine as her thighs tightened with every pop.

Julia's gaze fell to my mouth. It lingered there for a moment. Her ocean blue eyes twinkled in the light, and I saw them for the first time. The depth. The warmth. The kindness.

"I could swim in your eyes," I whispered.

Julia looked to the left; was she blushing? There was a pink undercoat pushing through her bronzed cheeks; I was sure of it.

"Thank you."

"Sorry, I can't seem to say anything normal around you," I admitted.

"Do I make you nervous?" Julia asked.

My fingers gripped the waistband of her trousers, tugging at her hip each time she moved towards me .

"Yes," I mouthed. The words didn't form. Her lips were so close to my ear now. Her hair glided past my nose with the scent of products unknown to me but welcomed. I didn't want the dance to end. I wanted the mariachi band to play all night long, for the other guests to disappear, and the moment in time to be ours, and ours alone.

"You... also... make me really nervous." Julia sighed. Her lips must've been a millimetre away. Her breath moved its way down to my neck.

"Yeah?" I closed my eyes and allowed the rhythm of the music to teach my feet. Julia's obvious knowledge of the dance allowed me to relax as I continued to let her take the lead.

"Can I—"

"Yes," I whispered.

Kiss me . Please just kiss me . My whole body screamed.

Julia brushed her lips against my neck, and then she kissed me. I could still taste the fresh tequila on her lips. Suddenly, I didn't hate it anymore. My hand moved from her waistband up to her neck, fingers tangling with her hair. Her tongue found its rhythm with ease, matching the movement of my own, until the synchronization reached an Olympic level, and I was all but cheering in the bleachers.

The music had stopped. I couldn't recall when, but we were dancing to our own song as our lips parted.

"Wow." I bit down on my bottom lip.

"Yeah, wow." Julia's forehead leant against mine. She didn't pull away immediately, but we stopped dancing and snapped back to the moment.