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The rocks were still warm from the day, sharp under my bare feet. I picked my way out along them with my margarita held high like a torch.
Ana was on the last flat boulder, hands in prayer position above her head, the sun burning down behind her. She wore leggings and a sports bra, and a sheen of sweat across her stomach. She didn’t turn round.
“You’re two minutes late for sun salutation,” she said.
“I’ve been told that before. By the Canadians.”
She laughed, low and warm, and turned. The lotus tattoo showed above her waistband. A single drop of sweat ran from her collarbone down between her breasts. I watched it go.
“I teach on the beach most evenings,” she said. “Nobody comes out this far. It’s the one place I can think.”
“Sorry. I’ll go.”
“Don’t.” She said it quickly, and touched my wrist, and left her hand there. Her palm was dry and very warm. “I was hoping it’d be you. Sophie, I’ve been trying to work out for three days how to ask you for a drink without it being a conversation about stretching.”
I held up my glass. “I have a drink.”
“So you do.” She took it out of my hand and sipped, eyes on mine over the rim, and the last of the sun slid under the sea. The rock felt very small and very private. My heart was a trapped bird.
“This is the bit where you tell me what you’d like,” Ana said.