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Gary reached us first, a tote bag over one shoulder and a burnt nose glowing in the lantern light. Lou was next, in a sarong, barefoot. And behind them, with a lantern in one hand and a rolled yoga mat in the other, was Ana.
“Moonlight stretch,” Ana said, deadpan. “I found these two attempting a handstand in the surf.”
“It was going well until the wave,” said Gary.
I was lying in the sand with my bikini top askew and a bartender’s hand halfway up my thigh. Nobody pretended not to notice. Lou took one look, bit her lip, and grinned.
“Oh, love. We’ve interrupted. We’ll go.”
“Do not go,” said Mateo, sitting up, hair wrecked. “Please, nobody go.”
Everyone laughed. Lou sat down on the sand beside us and opened the tote bag. Prosecco. Strawberries. A string of condoms like bunting. “We were going to invite you up to the villa. Hot tub, six people could fit. Well. Five. Who’s counting?”
Ana set her lantern in the sand and looked at me, calm, dark-eyed, undeniably interested. “I’ve been thinking about you since sunrise class, Sophie,” she said. “I’d like to be counted.”
Mateo’s hand was still warm on my leg. Lou’s knee pressed against mine. Gary was visibly, enthusiastically trying not to cheer. All five of us were adults, wide awake, and all of us were looking at me.
“Everyone says yes, or nobody does anything,” Lou reminded us gently. “Soph? Your call.”
My pulse was in my ears.