I keep forgetting how loud the Caribbean actually is. Not because of the people. Quite the opposite.

The waves never stop crashing, the palm trees rustle with every little breeze, and somewhere birds are calling whose names I don’t even know. Everything is alive.

It was impossible to think about racing here. Which, according to Max, “is the healthiest thing that’s happened to you all year.”

“I still think about racing.” I mutter as I drop onto the sun lounger beside him. “No. You’re thinking about her.” Pietra laughs from behind her sunglasses.

I already open my mouth to argue, but then my eyes drift to the beach.

Yeah. Fair point.

Funny enough, I only met her because of mutual friends. One random dinner. One random evening I almost didn’t even go to.

At first I thought she’d be like everyone else I kept meeting through this world. Rich parents. Famous surname. Someone chasing the next invitation, the next paddock pass, the next photo.

She wasn’t. She had no interest in any of it. She never cared who walked into the room. Never asked for introductions. Never pretended to know people she didn’t.

She was just…her. Completely, unapologetically herself. And somehow that hit me harder.

She’s walking barefoot through the water, the legs of her white linen trousers rolled up. The setting sun bathes everything around her in warm gold as she tries, and spectacularly fails, to skip a shell across the water.

It makes one sad little plop. She lets out an overly dramatic sigh and kicks the water with her foot as if the water is somehow to blame. I smile before I even realize I’m doing it.

“There it is.” Max says, pointing at me.

“What?”

“That stupid grin.”

“I do not have a stupid grin.”

“You do. Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing.”

A vacation with friends always sounds incredibly relaxing.

It isn’t.

Someone always wants to go on a boat trip, someone else wants cocktails, and someone disappears for two hours because they happened to find a hammock and fell asleep in it.

Somehow, by the end, you still manage to do everything.

Today we went snorkeling. Tomorrow we’re apparently going jet skiing. Max is determined to rent paddleboards even though everyone reminded him that last time he fell into the water after about thirty seconds.

“I’ve gotten better.” He’d insisted.

Dinner is outside. A long wooden table right on the beach, string lights hanging between the palm trees, and little candles in glass lanterns. The kind of place that looks almost too beautiful to be real.

Everyone is talking over each other.

Pietra is telling some story, Max is passionately explaining that he’s actually an excellent cook if someone would just trust him for once, and Ed is talking about his new car.

And she’s sitting beside me, quietly listening while, beneath the table, her thumb traces little circles over the back of my hand. Tiny touches. Barely noticeable.

Except to me.

Later that evening, everyone gradually heads back to the villa. Except us. We stay on the beach. There’s almost no one left. Just the sea, the stars, and warm sand beneath our feet.

She slips her hand into mine without saying a word. It’s become such a natural thing by now that I don’t even remember who started it.

“I don’t want to go home.” She says quietly.

I laugh softly. “We’ve still got a few more days, baby.”

“I know.” She grins, rolls her eyes, wraps her arms around me, and looks up at me. Her smile immediately softens.

Not some cheesy movie moment. No grand declaration of love.

Just that little smile she only ever gives me. The one that makes my chest feel a little too tight every single time.

“This is how I like you best.” She says.

“With sunburn?”

She nods and bites her lower lip. “You actually do have a little sunburn.”

“I used sunscreen.”

“Obviously not on your nose.”

I groan. “Oh no.”

She lifts her hand and gently taps the tip of my nose with her finger. “You look ridiculous.”

“I thought you liked me.” I ask with a grin, raising an eyebrow.