The Spark on Shoreline

I curse under my breath as I check my phone. Shielded from the sun by my hat, the screen lights up, revealing a barrage of urgent missed calls—seventeen from Mum, nine from my brother, seven from my sister, and twenty-two from Dad. Each missed call is like a weight added to the pit of my stomach, worry mounting within me; I’m going to be in so much trouble. The warm sand that had been a comfort now feels like a bed of nails as I leap up, urgency propelling me. I attempt to call everyone back, but there’s no answer, only the haunting silence of voicemails echoing back at me, a chorus of concern that I can’t seem to escape.

Quickly I stand up as I grab my towel – my vision still blurry from the sun beaming down on me for so long – without shaking it out I shove it in my blue tote bag that I’ve repurposed to use as my beach bag. Slipping my black denim shorts over my cheek-cut hot pink bikini, I then gather all my belongings. Clutching my pair of black thongs in one hand and my bag containing my black cap, long lasting sunscreen, half-read book, sandy towel and coconut flavored lip balm slung over my left shoulder. As anxiety builds, I tighten my grip on my phone in my other hand.

Leaving the sound of the soothing waves crashing on the shore behind me, I start jogging, in a rush to get home as quick as possible so I don’t get more grounded than I am already going to be. The sand beneath my feet is scorching, my feet feel like they’re on fire, a stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze. I’m so focused on the heat and the urgency to return home that I don’t see the small beige rock camouflaged against the sand.

I trip, and for a brief moment, time slows down. I shut my eyes firmly, bracing for the impact, hoping that somehow, it would make the fall less painful and that no one would pay any attention to my clumsy tumble. But when I reopen my eyes, I’m not face first in the sand as expected. Instead, I’m staring into the deepest blue eyes framed with the longest eye lashes, belonging to a tall handsome guy with brown hair that was short on the sides and full and fluffy in the middle. He’s about my age, maybe a year older, with a presence that’s both disarming and intriguing.

He’s eyes are like twin oceans, so stunning I almost forget to breath. He's hair is effortlessly perfect and his facial features are so symmetrical they could’ve been made by the most skilled of artists. In disbelief by this accidental encounter, I forget that I’m just staring into his soul. He helps me to my feet with a strength that’s surprisingly gentle yet firm, and then he teases, “Are you going to thank me, or just stare all day?”

I snap out of my daze, my cheeks flushing with a warmth that the sun has nothing to do with. “Your eyes are gorgeous,” I blurt out, surprising myself with this sudden boldness. Instead of feeling embarrassed, there’s a sense of ease between us, an instant connection that feels like we’ve known each other forever.

He chuckles, a sound that’s both comforting and exhilarating. “Well, I could say the same to you,” he replies with a wink, his strong, veiny hands running through his hair in a gesture that’s casual. “So, since I saved your life, I think I deserve to know your name,” he adds, his smirk telling me he’s well aware of the effect he’s having on me.

“How about a number instead?” I counter, feeling daring and playful. I blow him a fake kiss, and he hands me his phone, looking rather amused. I quickly type my number and name in his contacts then send my phone a text so I also have his number. “So, what’s your name?” I ask handing his phone back.

He grins, the banter still flowing rather easily. “No, I believe the rules were number but no name,” he teasers, but I tap his phone signaling for him to check. “Hazel. Such a cute name,” he’s voice softens as he reads the contact I had added. “I’m Loki, by the way.”

“Loki,” I repeat, the name rolling off my tongue. “That’s a cute name, sounds like something I’d name my cat.” We both laugh, the sound mingling with the call of the distant seagulls and children playing in the distance. I decide to take a chance because, really, what’s the worst that could happen? Our eyes lock again, and I step closer, drawn to him like a magnet.

He moves my wavy, chocolate brown hair behind my ear, his touch sending shivers down my spine. His hand traces my jawline, slowly pulling my face closer to his. I glance from his left eye to his lips, then back to his right eye, the anticipation building. Our lips are inches apart, when my phone starts ringing, shattering the moment.

It’s probably mum, and if I don’t answer, I’ll be grounded for eternity. I pull away, sending a meaningful apologetic look before I answer the call. “Hazel Marine Milla Frazor, where on earth are you?” Mum’s voice is a mix of relief and frustration.

“At the beach, like I said,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant even though I know I’m in deep trouble.

“You had us worried sick! You said you’d only be thirty minutes. Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Four hours! Why didn’t you answer your phone? Get home this instant, young lady! We will discuss this then.” She hangs up, and I turn to leave, but not before calling out to Loki.

“I’ve really got to go, text me?” His thumbs-up is all the reassurance I need. I start running, the boardwalk under my feet, the palm trees around me, a green blur. Despite the lecture I know I’ll get from mum, I can’t help but smile, thinking about Loki and the undeniable spark between us, even though we were only talking for a maximum of three minutes.