“C’mon now,” Eugene mutters, his voice low and laced with a soft Southern drawl, as he strides over to where you’re slouched against the side of a beach house. He leans down and takes your hand, gently tugging to help you to your feet. “The sun’s fixin’ to set soon, and I wanna get in the water,” he adds, his tone quieter now, his eyes fixed on yours.

A crooked smile tugs at his lips as you reluctantly rise, his gaze never leaving you. He brushes the sand off his hands, swiping it onto his swim trunks before slipping off his glasses. With an easy flick of his wrist, he tosses them onto the towels spread out nearby.

This trip had been your idea—a spur-of-the-moment getaway that started in Mexico City. You’d taken bus after bus, winding your way south through bustling towns and sleepy villages, until you reached the shores of Panama. It wasn’t a vacation in the traditional sense; it was more like a journey, one with no set itinerary but plenty of room for adventure. Eventually, the road had brought you here, to a beach where the horizon seemed endless.

From the moment you dropped your bags in the hotel room, Eugene had been eager to explore. It was no surprise that the first stop was the beach—he couldn’t seem to stay away from the water. Now, as the two of you stroll along the shoreline, the golden light of the setting sun dances across the waves. Eugene steps into the shallows, the cold water lapping at his legs. He lets out a breathy chuckle, glancing over at you with a playful glint in his eye.

“Well, go on now, get in,” he teases, crouching down to skim his hand across the surface of the water. You recognize the mischievous look on his face—a warning of what’s to come.

“You’ve got ten seconds, or I’m draggin’ you in myself,” he threatens with a smirk, his Southern accent soft but steady. He straightens up, crossing his arms as he begins to count down. “Ten… nine… eight…”