Бесплатный фрагмент - Hotel on the edge of passion

Chapter 1

Steve

I first saw it on the shore of a deserted beach in Puerto Vallarta while walking with a friend. The sun was still quite high in the sky, casting a warm, honey-apricot glow.

He stood at the very edge of the water, his back to me. I noted that he was about my height and quite slender. His damp dark hair, falling to his shoulder blades, glistened softly in the early sunset. His broad shoulders were relaxed, yet with a subtle heaviness, as if bearing the weight of invisible cares. The line of his back between his shoulder blades curved slightly to the left, and his posture was pensive. He leaned forward slightly, hands on his hips, and gazed into the distance, where the sky merged with the ocean.

A tranquil atmosphere enveloped the beach. A gentle breeze stirred the sand, leaving intricate patterns. The waves rolled in steadily, with a soft rustle, then retreated, leaving behind a wet, glistening strip. Two eagles circled above the water, occasionally descending to the surface in hopes of prey.

I stood frozen in place, like a stone statue. I stood not too far away — about ten meters — and stared at him. The wind rustled my blonde hair, the sand gently caressed my feet, but I didn’t move. Suddenly, I felt something move on the big toe of my right foot. I looked down and saw something like a claw emerge from the curl of a shell.

— My gray-green eyes widened and I screamed, “Oh my God! What is this?”

“A common hermit crab,” my friend Alice said calmly. “The ocean is its home. Release it.”

I carefully picked up the shell and carried it to the water. As I set the shell’s occupant free to float, I called out loudly after him: “Live, my friend!”

At that moment, the handsome man turned around and looked straight at me.

Now I saw his face and froze once more. It was as if a sculptor had chosen not marble but warm sandstone, warmed and illuminated by the sunset. His nose had a slight hump that tapered to a rounded pimple. His tanned face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard, slightly touched with gray. The beard gave him more dignity than brutality. His eyes were hidden by tinted glasses, obscuring his gaze. Wrinkles — crow’s feet — spread out from under the temples. His lower lip was slightly fuller than his upper. I noticed his bright, very rich lip color.

— Well, well. Such bright lips. And mine, if I don’t use lipstick, are pale as dusty rose petals.

I’d never looked at a man so brazenly before. I latched onto him like a leech, but I didn’t know then that this man would become my passion, my pain, and my lesson. That he would tell me stories about his exes, each one a shard of a mirror reflecting his soul. And that I myself would become one of those stories.

But that would be later. And then I stood humbly and watched, feeling something inside me change forever.

When our eyes met, the world froze for a moment: the sunset, the sea, the wind — everything dissolved in that moment. He studied me in return — at first with surprise, then with a kind of quiet recognition, as if he’d seen me once before.

“Hello!” he broke the prolonged silence. “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes, I’m here on vacation,” I heard my voice as if from somewhere else. It sounded unusual — quieter, softer. “My first time in Mexico.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine. “Sometimes the sunset here looks like time stands still for a moment. If you’d like, I can show you the best spot to see it. By that cliff… it feels completely different.”

“Shall we go there?” he said quietly, nodding toward the cliff, whose outlines were already beginning to glow golden in the pre-sunset light. “They say it offers the best view.”

I smiled and took a step forward. The distance between us closed.

“Yes,” I answered, not taking my eyes off him. “Let’s go. But my friend is with me.”

“Okay. The three of us will go,” he agreed.

We walked along the shore side by side — at first leisurely, then a little faster, spurred on by anticipation. The sand beneath our feet changed: from dry and crumbly near the dunes to dense, damp near the water. The waves gently licked our feet, and the sun, sinking lower and lower, gradually painted the sky in fiery hues.

He walked slightly ahead, and the sea breeze made me smell the faint scent of salt and coconut oil on his skin. My friend walked beside me, periodically nudging my shoulder and whispering in my ear:

— He’s okay. What if it’s fate?

“My name is Steve,” the guy said without looking at me, but there was already a smile in his voice.

“Lila,” I answered.

“And I’m Alice,” her friend added.

On the way, he suddenly stopped and turned to me. His hand was clutching something. He unclenched his fist, and I saw three stones lying in his palm.

“It’s so strange: I found them on the shore. Exactly three of them. Although they shouldn’t be here. It’s a sandy beach, after all.”

We stood and looked at each other. Somewhere in the distance a seagull was screaming.

The ocean, along with the rolling wave, threw another stone onto the shore — the fourth, slightly larger than the others.

“Maybe this is a sign?” he asked quietly.

“A sign of what?” I asked in surprise.

— That it’s time for us to stop losing those who are dear to us?

I picked up one stone. It was warm, and it seemed to me that it held someone’s desire.

“Or a sign that it’s time to start all over again,” I answered.

He smiled.

— Then let’s begin. From the very first stone. From your story.

“OK, but first I’ll show you what I promised,” he nodded toward a cliff in the distance. “Let’s go. And let’s be informal.”

“Go ahead,” I said playfully.

“Then let’s move faster before the light changes. This window is only a couple of minutes — if we’re late, we’ll have to wait until next time.”

Steve touched my back in the lumbar region with his hot palm and gently pushed me forward.

The touch sent a shiver down my spine — unexpected, yet somehow not at all frightening. I involuntarily straightened up, feeling my back muscles tense, and my breathing faltered for a split second.

The warmth of his hand seemed imprinted on my skin, even through the thin fabric of my dress. It conveyed his confidence, a slight playfulness, a subtle message: “Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”

Steve pushed me forward, but he didn’t pull his hand away right away — it lingered a couple of moments longer than what was required for a simple gesture, and it made my heart skip a beat.

Several long-forgotten feelings suddenly stirred inside me:

— at first, surprise — I didn’t expect such spontaneity, such… physical intimacy after just a few minutes of acquaintance, and, in principle, I don’t like it when strangers touch me;

— then excitement — it was as if an invisible flower had blossomed inside: the petals gently pushed against the ribs, and the stem stretched somewhere towards the throat, filling the chest with an unusual warmth;

— and, of course, curiosity — what will happen next? What lies behind this simple, yet so meaningful touch?

I took a step forward — not so much because of the push, but rather because of an inner urge. My gaze was still fixed on the golden glow on the water, but now the world seemed to be split in two: one part — the mesmerizing spectacle of sun and sea merging, the other — the pulsating sensation where his hand had just been.

The air suddenly seemed thicker, richer: it mingled the scents of salt, heated stones, and the subtle aroma of coconut oil. I took a deep breath, trying to stop my fingers from shaking, and quietly said:

— Thank you for deciding to show us this… place.

The phrase sounded quieter than I had planned, almost a whisper — but in the silence, broken only by the sound of the waves, it seemed to sound quite clear.

We walked on, and that very cliff was already visible ahead. I involuntarily quickened my pace — curiosity blazing inside me like a small flame.

“How long have you known this place?” I asked, trying not to trip over a snag that had gotten under my feet.

“About fifteen years,” Steve answered, looking over his shoulder.

— I’m originally from London. Fifteen years ago, I came here looking for a place to build my hotel. Where are you from?

“And I’m from Windsor,” I answered.

“You’re not of royal blood by any chance? I’m just a simple guy,” Steve chuckled.

— Unfortunately or fortunately, I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth either.

“So what kind of rock is that?” Alice asked.

“It’s called Roca del Diablo — the Devil’s Rock. Locals tell many different legends about it and believe the shadows cast by this rock closely resemble the profile of Satan.”

We began to climb a narrow path winding between low bushes with silvery leaves. The air filled with the smell of salt and mud.

“Almost there,” Steve slowed and extended his hand to me. “It’s a little slippery here after yesterday’s rain.”

I placed my palm in his — warm, slightly damp, but surprisingly secure. He squeezed my fingers lightly and nodded forward.

“Look there, under that protruding rock. Stand like this, a little to the left… yes, perfect. Now close one eye and align the horizon with the edge of the rock.”

Alice and I followed his instructions. For a moment, the world in my head shattered into fragments — sand, sea, sky — and then reassembled into a wondrous picture.

The sun, sinking toward the water, seemed to hang an inch above the surface, casting a long golden trail. It seemed that in another moment the fiery ball would gently touch the waves, leaving an imprint of its warmth.

“WOW!” I breathed out, forgetting about everything else. “This is… incredible.”

Steve stood next to her, slightly behind her. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper:

— Now do you understand why I wanted to show this?

I turned and met his gaze — there was something in it that made everything inside me tremble. The sea roared somewhere in the distance, and time seemed to stand still in this small, wonderful moment.

I took a deep breath, trying to control my nerves. The air smelled of salt and something elusively warm — maybe the last rays of the setting sun.

“I understand,” I finally answered, not looking away. “It’s… like another world.”

The three of us stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Los Arcos archipelago: granite islands with natural arches rose above the turquoise water, their silhouettes softly blurred by a light haze. Waves crashed against the base of the cliffs, scattering spray, and silhouettes of birds flitted through the gaps in the arches.

Steve took a step closer, but still kept his distance, as if giving me time to process what I saw.

“I first saw this place in an old photograph of a friend’s,” he said quietly. “He said that if you stand in a certain spot at sunset, you can hear the whispers of those who were here before. Silly, I guess…”

“It’s not stupid,” I shook my head. “I believe in mysticism and that a place can hold someone’s stories. And now one of them is ours.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting for a moment to the largest arch, the one that looked like a giant gateway to the open sea.

“You know,” Steve continued, “the locals say that pirates used to hide out here a long time ago. Supposedly, there’s still a treasure chest in one of the caves, hidden under a stone with a bird carved into it. Of course, no one’s ever found it… but I like to think it’s still there. Waiting for someone to solve the mystery.”

I couldn’t help but smile:

— And you brought us here to… what? Suggest we go on a search?

Steve laughed, quietly but genuinely, and the sound merged with the sound of the waves.

“Perhaps,” he winked. “But first, look again. See how the sun comes through the arch? It turns the water the color of molten gold. This only happens for a few minutes a year.”

The wind caught my hair, and I suddenly realized I no longer felt any anxiety or doubt. Only boundless gratitude for this moment — and for the person who shared it with me.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For showing me this. For bringing me here.”

Steve silently extended his hand to me. I took it. His fingers were warm and soft, and we remained standing there, watching the last rays of sunset fade over the arches of Los Arcos, leaving behind a scattering of the first stars.

I felt his fingers tighten slightly in mine, and I knew it was time. The air grew cooler, and the shadows lengthened, hinting at the coming of night.

“It’s probably time,” I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the dots flickering in the sky.

Steve nodded, his gaze also turning to the horizon, where there were almost no traces of the sunset left.

“Yes,” he replied, a hint of sadness in his voice. “It’s time to go back.”

Chapter 2

Morning with a surprise

I woke up abruptly. There was an insistent knock on the door. I jerked awake, roused from the remnants of sleep, and instinctively glanced at the clock: eight-ten. Sunbeams were already filtering through the loosely drawn curtains, but the room still clung to the morning chill.

“Who’s there?” I asked hoarsely, still not fully awake.

“It’s me, Steve, please open up,” a familiar voice said from behind the door.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up completely. I stretched, savoring the last moment of the lazy morning, and then crawled out from under the warm blanket. My feet immediately felt the cool marble floor. I quickly slipped my feet into my Crocs. A cool breeze from the open window slid over my body through my silk nightgown. Shivering, I pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped myself in it, like a cocoon.

Approaching the door, I paused for a moment, listening. It was quiet beyond, only the faintest hint of something warm and delicious wafting through. I turned the handle and opened the door. Steve stood there. He held a tray with two clay pots, steaming gently, and a basket of golden churros.

His smile was so attractive that I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good morning!” he said, looking me in the eyes. “I really wanted to bring you coffee in bed, but that would probably be too much? Let’s drink it here, on the balcony?”

“So unexpected,” I exhaled, feeling a pleasant warmth spreading inside me that had nothing to do with the blanket. “Thank you. I’m so glad you took care of me.”

I took the pot from the tray. The clay surface was pleasantly warm to the touch.

“What an interesting way to serve coffee,” I remarked, looking at the pot with curiosity.

“It’s cafe de olla — traditional coffee served in pots,” Steve informed me. “And it’s traditionally drunk by dipping churros in the coffee.”

I grabbed some churros, walked over to the balcony railing, and leaned on it. Below, a cozy courtyard spread out with flowering bushes and small cafe tables. The air was fresh, with a hint of sea salt — the coast was just a few minutes’ walk away.

I dipped the churros in the aromatic coffee and took a bite. The crispy crust paired perfectly with the rich, spiced flavor of the drink. Taking a sip, I closed my eyes, savoring the moment.

“This is fantastically delicious,” I whispered. “And this morning is definitely on track.”

Steve stood next to him, leaned on the railing, and took a sip from his pot.

We stood and gazed into the distance, where the blue of the sea merged with the azure of the sky, and the world around us awakened, filled with new sounds and colors. At that moment, everything seemed so right and easy; it seemed fate itself had prompted Steve to bring this coffee just now.

“You know,” I said quietly, without taking my eyes off the horizon, “it would be nice to have a proper breakfast.”

Steve grinned, turned his head slightly in my direction, and replied, “I completely agree. Come on, get dressed, and let’s go to the cafe at my hotel. We’ll have breakfast there and continue our conversation.”

I nodded, smiled, and hurried inside to shower, apply light makeup, and put on a light green dress. About thirty minutes later, we were descending the stone stairs leading from the terrace to a small, cozy café with open verandas and a view of the sea.

Having taken a table in the shade of a large striped awning, we placed our orders: an omelet with tomatoes and basil, tacos with shrimp and mango, fresh fruit, and a cup of aromatic coffee.

The waiter quickly brought the dishes, and we happily began our breakfast.

Once the first few minutes of culinary delight had passed, I looked up at Steve and asked, “So how did you decide to build a hotel? It’s a serious step — investing time, effort, and money in such a project…”

He thought for a moment, took a sip of coffee, his gaze slid over the endless blue of the sea, and began to tell: “It all started a few years ago, when I first came here.

I was just traveling at the time, looking for a place to stay for a couple of weeks and get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. I passed many beaches. And this coastline, this view — they caught my eye.

I realized I wanted to do more than just come here on vacation, but to make this place accessible to others. So that people, like me, could find peace and inspiration here.

He gestured at the panorama: the sea, distant cliffs, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. “At first, it was just a dream. Then I started exploring the area, talking to the locals, calculating the risks. I had a lot of doubts, but every time I came here, my confidence grew stronger. And so I decided to go.”

As he spoke, I caught myself thinking: this is the moment when a person doesn’t play the role of a successful businessman, but generously shares what is truly important.

As he spoke, I caught myself thinking: this is the moment when someone doesn’t play the role of a successful businessman, but simply shares what’s truly important. No advertising, no numbers, no “we create experiences.” Simply — this is my business, and I’ve poured my heart into it.

And instead of the expected boilerplate words, I suddenly said, “You know what’s coolest? You’re not selling a sea view. You’re giving people the opportunity to slow down. And that’s… valuable.” Steve looked at me, slightly surprised, then nodded slowly, “Yes. Exactly. I wanted it to be a place where you could just… be. Without rushing.”

We exchanged glances — and there was more in that look than any compliment. It seemed like we both saw something real for a second: not the hotel, not the business, but what all this was all about.

Suddenly his gaze became more mischievous, he leaned slightly towards me, as if about to share a secret, and quietly said:

“You know, Lila, I don’t just run the hotel. I also give tours. And today, in fact, I want to invite you to ride my motorcycle to Palo Maria Falls. It’s an absolutely stunning place. Can you imagine, twelve cascades?”

I almost choked on a sip of coffee and raised my eyebrows in surprise:

— A motorcycle? Palo Maria Falls? Steve, are you serious?

He leaned back in his chair, smiled and nodded:

— Absolutely.

I couldn’t help but stare at his tanned face and the sparkle in his eyes — he was clearly talking about a place he loved.

“That sounds amazing,” I admitted. “But… a motorcycle? I haven’t ridden one in a while. It’s kind of scary.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured.

“I’ll drive carefully. Besides, the road starts out good and paved, and then it becomes a jungle trail. But it’s not far, about twenty minutes.”

“And what about the clothes?” I glanced at my dress. “You’re right, it’s definitely not for the jungle.”

Steve laughed:

— Exactly. Better put on sneakers and shorts. Oh, and don’t forget your swimsuit — the pool is almost seven meters in diameter, and there’s a rock you can dive off. The water is freezing, but it’s worth it. You’ll feel completely refreshed.

I thought for a moment, imagining it all: the sound of water, the greenery of the jungle, the wind in my face on a motorcycle…

“Okay,” I decided. “Sounds like a perfect day. Just give me an hour to get ready. And yes. Find me a motorcycle helmet.”

“Deal!” Steve slammed his palm on the table. “Then I’ll meet you at the main entrance in an hour. I’ll grab a helmet for you and a bottle of water. And if you want, I can lend you a light windbreaker — it can get chilly in the gorge.”

“I’d be grateful,” I smiled. “Then in an hour.”

I stood up from the table, feeling anticipation welling up inside me.

“You know,” I turned around at last, “I think this will be something out of the ordinary.”

Steve winked.

“I promise you won’t regret it. Palo Maria knows how to surprise.”

I headed towards the hotel, already imagining how I would walk along a path among the trees, listen to the sound of a waterfall and then, frozen on the edge of a cliff, look down at a turquoise bowl waiting for my jump.

We met at the main entrance. I was wearing cutoff denim shorts that showed off my legs and a crisp white top that hugged my chest, making my heart beat a little faster with anticipation. On my feet were white Reebok sneakers, ready for any adventure. My hair was braided over my shoulder, a light breeze ruffling the strands.

Steve glanced at me, a sparkle flickering in his eyes. A smile touched his lips.

“You look gorgeous, beauty,” he ran his hand over the part of my back that wasn’t covered by my top. The light touch ran through my skin like an electric shock, making me shudder. “Here’s the helmet.”

I pulled the helmet down onto my head, feeling its coolness, and straddled Steve’s back on the bike, wrapping my arms around his midsection. His body was firm and warm, and I pressed myself against him, feeling my own body begin to relax. We sped toward Palo Maria. The wind lifted his blue T-shirt slightly, and my hands felt his soft, smooth skin. Those goosebumps I knew so well ran through me — a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and something else, deeper. I tried not to think about it, just savoring the moment.

We soon reached the Palo Maria hacienda and walked along a path along the river. The sun’s rays filtered through the dense foliage, creating intricate patterns on the ground.

“Steve, do you see pythons around here often?” I asked, carefully stepping over the tree roots, trying not to trip. The thought of snakes slithering through the grass gave me a chill, but I tried to keep my cool.

“Not really,” Steve replied, turning and extending his hand to me on the steep section. His touch was confident and reassuring. “But every now and then. They’re harmless if you leave them alone.”

“Harmless?” I raised an eyebrow skeptically, trying to hide my slight fear. My mind was already conjuring up images of a huge snake coiling around its prey — me, that is. “They could strangle a person!”

“They can,” he agreed calmly, his gaze full of understanding. “But only if they feel threatened. You see, they fear us more than we fear them. To them, humans are just huge, incomprehensible beasts.” His words rang so convincingly that I felt the tension gradually leave me. I imagined a frightened python hiding from me, and it was almost funny.

“You’re comforting,” I snorted, but I still relaxed a little, allowing myself to believe his words. A voice inside me whispered he was right, and the fear began to recede.

“But look around,” Steve waved his hand, inviting me to enjoy the beauty of the moment. “See those orchids on the trees? A rare species, by the way. And the air — it smells of damp earth, flowers, and something else, elusive…” I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. Indeed, the air was filled with aromas that were impossible to describe in words. It was the scent of life, freshness, and something wild, pristine.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I took a deep breath. “And so quiet. Just the sound of the river and the birds singing.”

“Exactly,” Steve smiled. “This place has a calming effect. Sometimes I come here alone, to sit, be silent, and listen to nature. It helps clear my head of all my worries.”

We walked on, exchanging short phrases, sometimes silently enjoying the scenery.

We’d almost reached the waterfall when, cursing under my breath, I spotted a python basking on a wet rock right in our path. You know, the kind that looks like an old, wise root, only with eyes. I screamed so loudly that it seemed like every bird within a kilometer scattered, and instinctively I clung to Steve’s back, trying to shield myself from my fear.

He, of course, didn’t lose his composure. He turned around, instantly assessed the situation — like an experienced hunter, I suppose — and, without a word, scooped me up in his arms. Not like a sack of potatoes, but as if I were a porcelain figurine, and deftly skirted that damned rock.

“It’s okay,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “He didn’t even notice us. He probably thinks we’re just another piece of rock.”

And then I saw the waterfall. And it was… well, I don’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t just “powerful streams of water.” It felt like the earth itself had decided to cry, and those tears fell with such force that the air around it trembled. The mist rising from the spray shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, giving the impression that someone had scattered a handful of precious stones there. I even forgot about the python.

She took off her top and shorts, leaving only her swimsuit, and stepped into the pool at the foot of the cliff. Then she jumped back as if scalded.

— Brrr! It’s cold! This is ice water!

“It’s okay,” Steve smiled, looking at me with a special warmth. “It’s just at the beginning. Like at sea, remember? It’s a shock at first, but then you get used to it. Go in gradually.”

I obeyed, slowly sinking in. The water did indeed sting at first, but then, as he’d said, my body relented, and it even felt pleasant. At that moment, Steve, without thinking twice, climbed onto a rock and dove down. His body traced such a perfect arc through the air that I held my breath before he disappeared into the turquoise depths.

Having had our fill of frolicking, we climbed out onto the rocks, which the sun had warmed to a pleasant temperature. Steve pulled a papaya from his bag. I’d never seen one so bright, so juicy. He deftly cut it with a knife, and the juice ran down his fingers. He handed me a piece. It was so sweet and aromatic that I almost moaned with pleasure. The juice ran down my lips, down my hands, and without thinking, I licked a drop off my finger.

“This is the most delicious papaya I’ve ever eaten!” I exhaled, laughing.

Steve smiled, wiping my chin with the back of his hand. His touch was light, but I felt a distinct vibration run through me.

“I’m glad you liked it. ‘Everything here is real,’” he said, the sun reflecting in his eyes. “The fruits, the adventures, and all those moments.”

I leaned back on the warm stone, turning my face to the sun. The drops of water evaporated on my skin, leaving a feeling of freshness and slight languor. Somewhere in the distance, a waterfall roared, the wind rustled the leaves, and Steve sat next to me. Calm, confident, with that same easy smile that made him so attractive.

“You know,” I said, looking at the play of sunbeams on the streams of water, “I’d like to linger on this day.”

“Me too,” he replied quietly, looking off into the distance, where the jungle merged with the sky. “And you know what? We still have many days like this ahead of us.”

I turned to him and smiled. In that moment, everything seemed so simple and right. The sun grew warmer, the wind carried the scent of unfamiliar flowers, and somewhere deep in the jungle, the cry of an exotic bird rang out. We sat and quietly breathed in this moment. Without words, without thoughts of tomorrow. Just him and me. And it was perfect.

Chapter 3

Stone of the Past

We were returning from the waterfall, climbing a rusty staircase whose steps creaked underfoot, as if complaining of years of service. The damp air still held the freshness of spray, and the distant roar of falling water still rang in my ears. I walked a little ahead, admiring the play of light on the droplets settling on the fern fronds, when suddenly I tripped over a rock jutting out of the ground.

Losing my balance, I gasped and grabbed the railing. Looking around, I bent down, picked up a small, smooth stone with jagged edges, and, holding it up to eye level, I said in a drawn-out voice:

— Ka-a-amen! Do you remember the stones from the beach? You promised to tell me all your stories. Come on! Right now, while we’re walking.

Steve, who was walking behind me, looked at me sideways and said:

“Right now? Okay then. Since you insist…” He paused, as if collecting his thoughts, and then walked alongside me, slowing his pace slightly.

— My first ex-girlfriend and I were in the same year at university. Her name was Emma.

She was… explosive. Fiery red hair that always smelled of something sweet, like cinnamon. And a figure… well, you know. I wanted her all the time.

“And she?” I involuntarily quickened my pace, captivated by the story.

“And she seemed to show interest in me, but… you know, it was like she was playing. She kept me at arm’s length and, despite my attraction, didn’t give me access to her body.”

“And how did she end up being an ex?” I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t think she was even a real one. Or did you have something with her?”

“Oh, this story will be even worse than Santa Barbara,” Steve chuckled.

“It all started in London. Emma loved parties. And music. She’d throw impromptu house concerts: she’d wrap a towel around her head and sing songs into the vacuum cleaner’s receiver, dancing playfully. And I’d watch her in awe and sing along like a fool.

I couldn’t help but laugh:

— Into a vacuum cleaner tube? Seriously?

“Absolutely,” Steve smiled, brightening for a moment. “It was incredibly fun. We were both vegans, we hung out at vegan festivals, danced, and camped in the woods. My friend played his music there — it was really atmospheric.”

“What did she do for a living?” I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, trying not to miss a single detail.

“She was a brilliant photographer. Her photos were exhibited at Photo London and published in magazines. Then we started leading tours of the Thames and abandoned castles together. Gradually, we grew closer… And one day, she suggested we try living together. I agreed.

“That sounds almost perfect,” I said, tilting my head slightly, trying to hear something more in his voice. “What went wrong?”

Steve was silent for a moment, his gaze darting off into the distance, as if he were trying to recall days long gone.

“I decided to go to Mexico and build my own hotel there,” he began, his voice a little quieter. “Emma insisted on coming with me. We found a small plot of land by the ocean and started building — bamboo bungalows, a simple beach hotel. She told her friends about it, and gradually the first guests began arriving.”

He sighed, and a shadow flickered in his eyes.

“My desire to be with her grew with each passing day,” he continued, “but she kept me at a distance. She kept finding excuses not to get close. Then we went to Thailand. I’ve always been drawn to girls with slanted eyes, and I admit, I kept an eye on the locals. But Emma acted like a dog in the manger — she wouldn’t let me near them, but she wouldn’t let me away from her either. It irritated me.”

I gently touched his sleeve, trying to show that I was listening attentively.

“So you decided to break up with her?” I asked, trying not to show my excitement.

“No,” he replied, smiling with a hint of bitterness. “We had a heart-to-heart talk and went home. But soon she met another man and married him.”

“And you?” I leaned forward slightly, not hiding my interest.

“I returned to Mexico and continued working at the hotel. But the story didn’t end there.”

“What? You continued talking?” I froze, surprised.

— Yes. Emma didn’t want to lose her business and came to the hotel, pregnant and with her husband.

I didn’t even immediately figure out what to say.

“What a twist!” I finally exhaled. “And what happened next?”

Steve clenched his fists, as if remembering something heavy.

“I didn’t like the idea of a stranger appearing on my project. Besides, they conspired and hired local cholos.”to drive me out of my own territory. I had to sleep with a machete under my pillow and prop the door open with a pitchfork; the bungalow door could be opened with a fingernail.

“And how did it all end?” I felt my breath catch.

“She brought her lover and said that she couldn’t help herself — she fell in love.

I stared at him silently, the words stuck in my throat. His eyes held an old, not yet fully healed wound — not at all the Steve I’d seen before this conversation: confident, ironic, almost carefree.

“And how did you react?” I asked quietly.

He slowly looked up and smiled — sincerely this time, but with a hint of weariness.

“You know,” he patted me on the shoulder, “we’re almost there. Let me tell you how it all ended another time? Over a cup of coffee, when I have more time.”

When I returned to the hotel, the receptionist handed me a note from Alice: she was expecting me for dinner at the rooftop restaurant.

I thanked Steve for the walk and the story and headed up. From there, I had a stunning view of Puerto Vallarta’s old town: red-tiled roofs, narrow lantern-lit streets, and the dome of the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, with its famous crown shimmering in the twilight.

Alice was already sitting at a table by the railing, sipping a pink cocktail with an umbrella. Her eyes were shining, a mysterious smile played on her lips — I immediately knew something had happened.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, waving at me. “I thought you’d decided to spend the night by the waterfall.”

I sat down opposite her, ordered a lemonade for myself and looked closely at my friend:

— You look like you won the lottery. What happened?

Alice leaned back in her chair, took a sip of her cocktail, and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

— I met him.

“Who?” I asked, although I already guessed.

“An amazing guy. His name is Lucas. He’s a travel photographer — he came here to shoot street art and architecture in Puerto Vallarta. Tall, with these adorable dimples…” She rolled her eyes dreamily. “We met in the Plaza de Armas.”I was looking at a local artist’s murals. He came up to me and started telling me about his painting techniques and how artists are inspired by city views. It turned out he’d been living here for a month and knew every nook and cranny!

“And what next?” I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“Next, we’ll stroll through the narrow streets of the Zona Romantica district and talk… He’s so interesting! He knows tons of funny stories about the locals and knows how to make you laugh. And he plays the ukulele! Can you imagine? Right there in the square, he pulled out his instrument and played a couple of tunes. People immediately gathered around, and some even started dancing!”

The waiter brought my lemonade. I took a sip, watching Alice literally glow from within.

“So what now?” I asked cautiously.

“Now?” She clapped her hands. “Tomorrow morning he’ll give me a personal tour of the old quarters — show me hidden courtyards where bougainvilleas bloom and tell me about the history of colonial architecture. And then we’ll stop by a tiny coffee shop he found by chance — he says it has the best coffee in the whole city.”

“That sounds impressive,” I said, genuinely happy for my friend. “But what does this mean for us? For our plans?”

Alice took my hand and squeezed it.

“Sorry, honey. I know we wanted to spend these two weeks together, exploring the city, wandering around the market on Kuale Island, dining at different restaurants… But this is something special, you know? I feel like I have to try it.”

Her eyes held a sincere plea for understanding. And I truly did understand — I remembered all too well that thrilling feeling of that first spark.

“Of course,” I smiled wider. “Of course, Alice. I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“You’re the best!” She jumped up from her chair, walked around the table, and hugged me. “I promise we’ll catch up. In the meantime…” She winked slyly, “you’ll have more time for your mysterious Steve. He’s clearly not indifferent to you.”

I felt a slight blush creep up my cheeks:

— Alice! We’re just friends.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she smiled slyly. “Just friends who spend hours strolling along the Malecon and telling each other stories from the past.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “So be it. But I’m still happy for you. And I want to hear all the details later.”

“Of course,” Alice sat back down. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening and tell you how it went. And today… Today after dinner, Lucas and I agreed to watch a movie together.”

She sighed dreamily, and I suddenly realized: our vacation plans together were indeed changing. But there was something right about it — each of us was finding our own path, our own insights.

“Okay,” I raised my glass of lemonade. “To new encounters and adventures.”

“To them!” Alice clinked her cocktail with me. “And to the fact that they bring only joy.”

We laughed, and in that moment I felt an unimaginable lightness, because now I can spend more time with Steve without remorse, getting to know him more deeply through his stories.

Chapter 4

An unexpected visit

After dinner, I returned to my room — small but cozy, with a view of the mountains. The scent of pine needles and mirabilis flowers still hung in the air. I tossed my bag on a chair, kicked off my Crocs, and headed for the shower.

Warm water flowed over my body, washing away the road dust. I closed my eyes and relaxed… And suddenly Steve’s face appeared before my mind’s eye. Details stood out clearly: the wrinkles around his eyes — the very ones that appeared when he laughed until he cried; the light stubble on his chin, slightly prickly in appearance; his loose hair, slightly curled at the ends and seemingly illuminated by the setting sun.

A thought flashed through my head: “I wonder where he is now? I wish he would come to me…” I shook my head, driving away the obsession, and turned off the water.

After getting out of the shower, I started blow-drying my hair. Just then, my smartphone screen lit up — I received a text from Steve:

— Lila, are you sleeping?

I smiled, and the sound of abrupt finger taps began to play on the smartphone screen:

— No.

The next message was not long in coming:

— Do you want to talk? Maybe in person?

“Okay then,” I typed back, feeling something inside me skip a beat.

After a couple of minutes on the screen:

— I’ll come in 10 minutes.

I’d managed to slip into a snow-white silk robe, the most delicate feathers dangling from the sleeves, and tidy myself up a bit when there was a knock at the door. Steve stood there, wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt, with that unfailing smile of his that made my heart race.

“Hello,” he said, bouncing slightly from heel to toe. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” I stepped aside, letting him in. “Come in.”

We sat down on the bed opposite each other. He immediately started talking:

“How do you like the waterfall? I always ask my tourists what they think. You know, I had a case: a girl lost her grip and slipped off a cliff — she broke her arm. But she held on like a trooper and walked steadily to the waterfall and back. Now that’s fortitude!”

“Impressive,” I shook my head. “I liked the waterfall, but in some places it was really scary: my legs were slipping apart, and I wasn’t flexible enough to find my footing. If you hadn’t given me your hand in time, I would have turned into jelly, melting into the rocks!”

Steve laughed:

“Oh, that’s a classic. Lots of people do that. You were absolutely brilliant. By the way, did you notice how the sun played on the surface of the water, creating a rainbow in the spray?”

“Yes,” I smiled, remembering. “It was amazing. And that smell — wet stone, moss, something ancient — I even felt like a forest goddess.”

He pulled a bottle of tequila from a paper bag and deftly uncorked it. Then he sliced a lime and handed me a circle. I took the salt shaker, poured salt into my hand, then into his.

“Well, here’s to us!” Steve said, handing over the kopita.and lightly hitting it against mine.

We drank the tequila in one gulp and ate some lime — the tart and sour taste mixed with the scalding heat.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I asked, chewing a wedge of lime and wrinkling my nose.

“I just wanted to know more about you,” he leaned back on his elbow, looking at me. “For example, I noticed that you don’t listen to music on headphones. Why?”

“My headphones hurt my ears,” I admitted. “And I’m not a music lover at all. The car radio is enough for me — at least I can change the channel if a song doesn’t work. Plus, I like listening to the wind whistling through the windows, the wheels crunching on the asphalt. The sounds of city life. That’s music of sorts.”

“I hope you go to nightclubs?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not old enough to hang out in clubs until the early hours,” I smiled. “I pop in sometimes, but I don’t really enjoy them. It’s too smoky there, and the music hits your ears like a hammer. I prefer listening to music in open spaces — at raves and festivals. The air is different there, you know? It’s a kind of freedom. When you’re standing in a crowd, and all around you is the sky, the music, and people who feel the same way you do.”

“Wow! I love raves too!” His eyes lit up. “Time dissolves there. You just exist in the moment, in the rhythm, in the vibration.”

“Exactly!” I perked up. “It’s like you’re becoming part of something bigger.”

“Do you like to dance?” he leaned forward.

“What girl doesn’t love to dance?” I laughed. “You know, they say dance is the vertical embodiment of horizontal desires. I completely agree with that statement.”

“Do you dance reggae?” he asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “I dance partner dances. I really love Latin — it’s full of passion, energy, and play. Every step is a dialogue, a flirtation, a challenge. And lady dancing is a mix of grace and strength, and overall, it’s very sexy.”

“I love reggae,” Steve sighed. “It’s got a rhythm to life, you know? Like a heartbeat. There’s something primal, ancient about it. Like hearing the voice of your ancestors.”

“Were there Africans among your ancestors?” I giggled.

There was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked at me, as if some internal alpha male mode had been activated.

He took my hand and pulled me toward him. The sudden movement caused my robe to slide down, from my shoulder to my elbow. Steve pressed his lips to my shoulder, and I felt the heat of his kiss — light, almost weightless, but it sent shivers down my spine.

“Do you mind if we dance in bed?” he asked quietly, his voice a little lower, more velvety.

“I don’t mind,” I whispered, feeling my heart beat faster.

He stood up and pulled me along with him. There was no music in the room, but it was playing inside — in the rhythm of our hearts, in our breathing, in our touches.

Steve wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. His hand slid down my back — slowly, searchingly, as if memorizing every curve. I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension of his muscles beneath my fingers.

We began to move — not in any particular dance, but simply to the beat of something else. His lips found my shoulder again, then my neck — light, teasing kisses that took my breath away. I ran my fingers through his hair — soft, slightly damp from the street, with the subtle scent of the wind.

He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes — long and intently, as if searching for something. Then he leaned in and kissed me on the lips.

It wasn’t just a kiss — it was a discovery. The taste of tequila and lime mingled with something familiar, long forgotten. His hands slid down my back, tracing the line of my waist, lingering on my hips. My fingers caressed his neck, buried themselves in his hair, pulling him closer.

“You know what really turns me on?” Steve whispered, pulling away slightly but still holding me. His breath tickled my skin. “Sex in unusual places. Somewhere in nature, under the open sky, or in some deep cave… Places where every sound, every smell becomes part of something bigger.”

I froze for a moment, feeling a wave of warmth run down my back.

“I like having sex in unusual places too,” I answered quietly, looking him straight in the eyes. “But what turns me on the most is you. Just you. Your gaze, your smile, the way you touch me… And your hair drives me crazy. I want to bury myself in it forever.”

His eyes widened for a second, and then something new flashed in them — deeper, more sincere.

“Lila…” He ran his thumb over my cheekbone. “You have no idea how this sounds to me. You make everything around you extraordinary. Even this room now seems magical, filled with a mysterious aura, like the cenotes of the Yucatan.”

We kissed again — this time deeper, more intimate. His hands slid confidently over my body, and my fingers continued to explore the lines of his shoulders, neck, and face.

Time lost its meaning. We explored each other in motion, our bodies finding new positions. I would press my back against him, feeling his chest between my shoulder blades, then turn to meet his gaze, then drop to my knees, pressing his palms into the mattress.

At times he would hold me so tightly that we became one.

Outside, the sky began to lighten — barely at first, then more and more. The first rays of dawn broke through the curtains, painting the room in peach tones. They fell on our faces, highlighting every feature, every curve.

Suddenly Steve froze, glanced at his watch and jumped up:

— Oh my God, I have to have a planning meeting soon! And you haven’t slept at all…

He got dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt as he went.

“We’ll have breakfast together at ten,” he turned around at the door.

Chapter 5

Whales and Forgotten Stories

We arrived at the restaurant in sync, but we were approaching each other from different directions. The terrace still held the remnants of the night’s freshness, and the ghostly white paper lanterns, forgotten since the previous day’s wedding, sagged slightly.

As we approached the table, rays of sunlight, breaking through the green palms and sharp cacti, touched the nearby bougainvillea. Its purple flowers instantly came to life, blazing with an almost aggressive brightness.

The air was a veritable cocktail of aromas: spicy Mexican coffee with cinnamon and orange zest, smoke from the grill where quesadillas were being cooked., and the sweet smell of fried bananas. Mariachi music sounded somewhere in the distance., turned on by one of the staff, and the melody, floating in the air, seemed to awaken sleepy bodies.

Waiters in crisp white shirts under black and red vests glided gracefully between tables, carrying delicious plates of huevos rancheros.and guacamole. I stirred my coffee, immersed in Steve’s stories about his dreams.

Nearby, on the adjacent table, sat a bowl of juicy fruit: ripe papaya, caramelized pineapple, and guava exuding a delicate floral aroma. The familiar clink of dishes and voices drifted from the kitchen.

A huge blue whale was painted on one of the restaurant walls.

“You know,” I took a sip, “I’ve always dreamed of seeing whales in person. In their natural habitat, so they could swim right next to me and I could touch them…”

Steve’s fork paused in midair. A slow, sly smile lit his face, making him look like a cute little fox.

“So what’s the problem? It’s whale watching season in Banderas Bay. I can take you there if you want.” Overwhelmed with joy, I sat up so abruptly that I knocked over my cup. A dark puddle of coffee spilled across the tablecloth, soaking into the fabric with its bright embroidery — red roosters and green agave leaves.

“Oh, damn!” I grabbed the napkin, but the waiter was already there. He deftly dabbed the stain with a special sponge, took the cup away, and said with a knowing smile, “No problem, señorita. Love makes us all a little clumsy.” — Winking, he hurried to another table.

While we waited for more coffee, the aromas of cinnamon and citrus grew even stronger. The chef began preparing the next batch, using the restaurant’s special recipe. The sun was rising, the palm trees’ shadows crept across the terrace, and the bougainvillea flowers above us, as if echoing my excitement, grew even more vibrant.

I could no longer hide my curiosity:

“You still haven’t told me the whole story about Emma,” I looked at Steve. “How did you feel when she left? Are you following her future?”

He twisted his mouth into a dissatisfied grin, ran a hand through his hair, and stared for a moment at the dancing reflections of light in his glass of orange juice.

“Let’s not start the morning with memories of your ex, okay?” Steve put down his fork. “I’ll tell you everything on the boat ride. I promise.”

The boat rocked gently on the waves, leaving a foamy trail behind. We set out into the bay just as the sun was beginning to warm. The pearlescent morning sky and the delicate aquamarine hue of the water were left behind, giving way to a brighter, more saturated daylight.

Steve stood next to me, squinting in the sun, his hair blowing in the wind. I held onto the handrail, taking in deep breaths of the fresh sea air, and felt the waves lift our boat, carrying us further and further from the shore.

A stunning landscape spread out around us: to the left, a jagged coastline with bays and terraced houses clinging to the hillsides like colorful shells on the rocks. To the right, the endless expanse of the ocean, shimmering with every shade of blue, from the soft blue of the horizon to the deep indigo of the distance. In the distance, the silhouettes of mountains could be seen, shrouded in a light haze that added a touch of mystery to the landscape.

“Look!” Steve pointed forward, his voice full of delight.

A sea turtle emerged from the water, its shell glinting in the sun before it disappeared back into the depths, leaving only a slight ripple on the water.

“They’re all over here,” Steve explained, his eyes shining. “Migrating along the coast.”

A few minutes later, we spotted dark, triangular fins cutting through the water. Dolphins accompanied the boat, effortlessly gliding through the waves. Soaring above the water and then disappearing into the depths, they kept popping up right from under the boat’s bottom, creating the impression of joyful play with us. I couldn’t help but exclaim in delight as I watched their graceful movements.

“See those things with the wide wings?” Steve nodded toward the dark shadows beneath the surface. “Those are manta rays. They’re harmless, they feed on plankton.”

I leaned over the side, trying to get a better look. The manta rays glided underwater like enormous living disks, their fins moving smoothly, almost hypnotically, captivating me with their exotic beauty.

The captain, a tanned man who looked like an Indian, turned to face us, his face illuminated by the sun.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll see whales. They’re migrating along the coast right now, heading south.”

At that moment, I felt something change in the atmosphere. Steve came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“So, are you ready?” he asked, and there was a new note in his voice that I couldn’t immediately place.

I nodded, smiling broadly, the wrinkles on my forehead creeping up, but at the same time I felt a slight thrill. The story began unexpectedly — we were just admiring the dolphins, and his gaze became thoughtful, gazing somewhere beyond the horizon.

“Emma and I lived together for two years,” he began, his voice quieter, as if afraid to frighten his memories. “In the old hotel, before she brought her husband and lover there. I told you before. She was… flamboyant. Too flamboyant for me, as it turned out.”

I felt tension run through my body. I knew this story wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t expect it to be so personal. I tried not to look at him, so as not to betray my curiosity, but I glanced at him periodically. I wanted to understand what had made him change so much.

He fell silent, looking into the distance, and I waited for him to collect his thoughts. The wind ruffled his hair, and I noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed sharply. He seemed to be struggling with something inside himself.

“When she left, it was a blow to me like an invisible snake biting into my heart. The pain came instantly: sharp, sudden, taking my breath away,” Steve continued, his voice shaking. “I couldn’t believe it was reality and not a bad dream. I was choked with anger: how could I trade us for someone else? I was angry at her, at myself, at the whole world. And then came fear. I was afraid of being alone. Do you understand?”

I nodded silently, feeling his words resonate within me. I, too, knew what the fear of loneliness was and understood how difficult it could be to overcome.

“I tried to cope as best I could,” he chuckled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “First, I drowned my sorrows in tequila, then I got to work. A new hotel needed building, and I threw myself into it. But at night… At night, it was hard. I dreamed of endless scenes of her leaving, distorted in some way, causing me to wake up in a cold sweat. I’d get up, pace the empty room, remembering how we laughed and argued.

I imagined him alone in the empty room, and I felt sorry for him. I wanted to reach out and hug him, but I didn’t dare.

“It looks like you still carry the trace of that bite,” I said quietly, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“There is such a thing,” Steve answered sadly.

“And she?” “What happened to her?” I asked, trying to speak as gently as possible.

“I returned to London, gave birth to my second child. And then, imagine, I came back here and started leading tours of various parts of Mexico. As if nothing had happened.”

I was shocked. How can you be so indifferent? How can you so easily forget everything that happened?

He put his arm around my shoulders and pointed into the distance:

— Look! There are the whales.

I jumped up from my seat and grabbed the edge of the side, forgetting about everything in the world.

— Wow! They are so huge!

Whales appeared and disappeared in the waves — huge, majestic, they danced, spewing fountains of water. One of them swam very close — I saw its gigantic fin furrowing the surface. I felt small and insignificant before this power of nature. I wanted to reach out and stroke it.

Steve stood next to me, and I could feel his breath. It was clear to me that Emma still haunted him, but at that moment I clearly felt a connection between us that went deeper than our past.

We were connected by this bay, these whales, this sun, this feeling. And I naively hoped that this connection would be stronger than any other.

The captain approached us with some kind of pipe in his hands.

“It’s a hydrophone,” he handed me the device. “To hear whales sing.”

I pressed the phone to my ear. At first, there was only the sound of the waves, and then… A low, thick, vibrating sound filled my ears. It resembled a song, or a conversation in an incomprehensible language — a deep, powerful, mesmerizing sound.

My mouth opened wide, revealing my teeth. My eyes glowed, and I couldn’t stop commenting on my sensations:

— Oh my God, it’s incredible! They’re singing… They’re really singing! It’s the most unusual and mesmerizing sound in the world! Aaaah…

Steve stood nearby, smiling. He also picked up the hydrophone, listened, then nodded:

“Yes, they always do. It’s as if they’re reminding us that the world is bigger than our problems.”

We made the return journey in silence, trying to retain the joy we’d felt from our encounter with the whales. The sun had risen higher, the water had brightened, and the dolphins had disappeared from view.

I couldn’t resist asking questions again:

“What happened to the old hotel?” I asked.

Steve sighed:

“It was abandoned. Emma even called me once and said that if I wanted, I could take some things from there that might be useful for my new hotel.”

— Did you take it?

“Of course not. I don’t need that. Besides, my new hotel is in a completely different style. No memories whatsoever.”

“I’d love to see the abandoned hotel,” I admitted. “I’m terribly curious. It’s probably covered in moss, the walls are covered in vines… Like something out of a horror movie.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Steve answered firmly.

— Okay then. Then tell me, how did you manage to cope with loneliness?

He paused, looking at the horizon line where the water merged with the sky.

“One day, when we were all still living together in the old hotel, a group of English women came to stay. Among them was a married couple. The girl looked very much like Emma — that’s probably what caught my eye. And boy, you’ll be surprised… That same lover of Emma’s, the one with whom she had a daughter.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed.

“So, Emma stole this girl’s husband,” Steve continued. “By the way, the girl has a very unusual name. Her name is Ocean.”

“Oh, it looks like there’s a second story coming up,” I winked. “Will you tell me?”

Steve chuckled, adjusted his sunglasses and looked at me:

“The ocean… It was with her that my resurrection to life began. She didn’t come here just like that. She had her own purpose, her own secret. And when I realized that, everything became even more complicated.

We approached the hotel gates with leisurely steps. I walked slightly ahead, glancing back every now and then to see Steve: he was leisurely following behind, his hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki shorts, squinting against the setting sun, which was already turning the sky shades of ripe mango and lavender.

As we walked, I couldn’t stop thinking about Emma.

Life is a strange thing. Why did Emma, even though she had a husband, start an affair with Steve? Surely it wasn’t out of calculation — she had everything: stability, security, status. No, it was something else. Perhaps at that moment, what was missing in her marriage came to the forefront for her — a spark, a challenge, a feeling as if the world had suddenly become brighter. Steve, with his energy, his passion for his work, with this hotel he was literally building brick by brick — he was like a breath of fresh air.

And then she left for a third… And that’s even more surprising. Two men next to each other — one reliable, the other exciting — and she chooses someone new. How much love did she have to have fallen in order to do something like that? To ruin her established life, to risk everything for the unknown?

I glanced at Steve — he’d removed his bandana and shaken his hair. For a moment, something incomprehensible flashed in his eyes: bitterness? nostalgia? a search for someone to blame?