Coming Up For Air | ✓

13 | something a-boat you

Stella's first glimpse of Jake's hometown is one of a postcard come alive.

In an attempt to wake herself up, she bats her eyelashes—stifling a yawn as she squints at the bright light pouring through the toned windows of Jake's car, bathing the interior of the vehicle in a warm glow. She has no idea just how long they've been on the road, but there's no mistaking the coastal nature running along the highway.

Head leant against the back of her seat, she gazes out the window. To their right, the ocean stretches far and wide. Its deep blue surface glimmers underneath the blinding rays of sun, it seems to reach into infinity, with no end in sight. Or reach.

Stella's chest tightens with a strange flutter as she watches the waves roll over one another—big and small—before they crash violently onto the stone of the shore below, her lips widening into a smile.

Shifting in her seat, she stretches her arms before her in an attempt to soothe the damage from her less-than-ideal sleeping position. The movement is far from discreet and Jake catches her eye through the rearview mirror with a faint smile, a silent chortle leaving his lips as she lifts her hand in a small wave.

They left Blue Windflower Lake behind at daybreak. Weekender bags in hands, they'd stepped out onto the front porch and into a neighborhood enveloped in complete silence. A dewiness had clung to the foggy air, the scent of nighttime still strong as they'd spoken in hushed voices—as if afraid to awaken nature, watching the first few careful rays of light as they begun to peek out in the horizon.

Now, the ocean slips out of Stella's view. Taking a turn off the highway, they're soon surrounded by roundabouts and greenery of trees as a town materializes before her. An ice-hall towers behind a bus stop where a crowd of suntanned legs and colorful suitcases whirls around an awaiting coach.

A narrower street follows, with three-story houses in shades of beige and yellow lining the cobblestones. Bed & Breakfasts. Restaurants. Open-air-cafés bustling—glasses of rosé thrown around and laughter echoing so loud into the sky it even slips through the black exterior of the car.

A boardwalk runs along the street's opposite site, and behind it: a beach. Sand dunes stretching far and wide, sporting an image taken out of a travel magazine. Turkish beach throws strewn about. Colorful plastic buckets and shovels stood along rows of sandcastles. A group of friends taking up the beach volleyball court. Kids sprinting in and out of the waves as they wash onto the shore.

The town turns into a blur as they whiz through it. Away from the view of the ocean into quiet neighborhoods—nice-looking villas and trees lining the sidewalks. A bicycle haphazardly thrown aside on a lawn. A few houses down, a man kneels before his flowerbeds. Around the corner, a wide window's propped open, revealing a gathering behind the fluttering curtains. Party hats, confetti and a big chocolate cake.

A content sigh sounds from the passenger seat as they eventually come to a stop to the side of a road.

"Home sweet home."

Stella's eyes flicker from the majestic white two-story villa—a long gravel path lined by flowerbeds leading the way to its front door—to Avery. "You live here?"

Just then, Fizzy leaps to her feet and lets out a high-pitched yelp.

Wincing with a small laugh, Avery gets her door open. "Oh, no. Not me. Fiz does."

Following the other two, Stella steps out of car and is instantly hit with a salty warmth one only finds by the coast. Despite being out of view, and reach, the sea lingers in the stray gusts of wind—rustling crowns of trees and fluttering the fabric of her pink linen top.