I like what they see.

Is this what life is like for Genesis all the time?

84 HOURS EARLIER

GENESIS

Holden sets his empty beer bottle in the sand, next to his towel. “Why isn’t there anything to do here?” he demands, shooting an irritated look at Nico over me, Pen, and Neda. “I thought there’d be more . . . recreation.”

“There’s cornhole,” Nico suggests. “Or Frisbee. Or swimming. Or soccer. Or cards. Or conversation.” But I can tell from the sardonic upturn of one side of his mouth that he knows exactly what Holden means by “recreation.”

My boyfriend knows Nico snuck something into the park, but his pride won’t let him ask for a hit from the guy he caught kissing his girlfriend.

I haven’t told him I have a joint tucked into my tampon case because I’d much rather watch this social experiment unfold.

“Why don’t you guys go snorkeling?” Neda says.

I laugh. “Holden won’t—”

“What, and mess up his hair?” Nico quips.

“That’s a great idea.” Penelope stands and holds one hand out to Holden. “Come snorkel with me.”

To my surprise, he lets her pull him to his feet, then digs my snorkeling gear from my bag. Halfway down the beach, she snatches his mask and he chases her all the way into the water.

“Look!” Neda sits up on her towel, and I follow her gaze to see that two men with drums and marimbas have pulled plastic chairs from the restaurant onto the sand. They begin improvising a lively rhythm, and a small crowd gathers. “What’s that?” Neda asks when a woman joins them with a small wooden flute.

“It’s called a gaita,” Nico tells her as the first playful, airy notes mix with the marimba’s melody.

The crowd grows, and people start dancing. The beat is infectious.

“Come on!” I pull Neda off her towel. She, Nico, and I head down to the spontaneous party, and I’m dancing before I even join the crowd. I can’t help it. The sand is warm beneath my feet and the ocean breeze cools my skin. This place is the heart of Colombia. It’s still a part of my father, even if he won’t admit it. And now it’s a part of me.

Neda, Nico, and I dance in a cluster, laughing and lost in the rhythm. The setting sun paints my shadow on the sand.

I don’t see Holden and Penelope, but Maddie’s laughing and drinking with two guys at one of the tables.

She’s finally remembered how to have fun.

“Hey!” Penelope slides into the circle next to me. “The water’s amazing! You should go in!”

“I will later. Where’s Holden?” The crowd has doubled since we arrived this afternoon. So much for our exclusive retreat.

“He found some like-minded individuals.” Penelope points across the beach, and in the dying light from the setting sun, I see my very high boyfriend clutching a fresh beer as he tosses beanbags with half a dozen guys who seem to be enjoying cornhole with more enthusiasm than it deserves.

“You want to get a drink?” I ask, and when Pen nods, we duck out of the crowd.

Penelope groans over the length of the line at the bar, but my gaze has snagged on a guy at the front, waiting for whatever he’s ordered. Light beard scruff outlines his strong jaw. A narrow-brimmed straw hat blocks the setting sun from his hazel eyes.

The bartender sets an unopened beer and two bright red cocktails garnished with slices of starfruit on the bar. The guy in the hat slides the beer into a pocket of his cargo shorts, then takes both plastic cups. He stops in front of us, on his way to the beach.

“I over-ordered.” The tilt of his smile mirrors the angle of his hat brim. “Could you two could help me out with these?” He holds up the cocktails.

Penelope’s hesitation is no surprise. Until she retired from gymnastics, she didn’t have time for a social life, and she’s still behind the curve in experience. In fact, Holden is the only guy she seems truly comfortable with.

Which makes her the perfect wingman. She knows when to bow out and is willing to keep my boyfriend company.

“Happy to help.” I take the drinks and hand one to Pen.

“Thanks.” She takes a sip.

“Wait, I did that wrong.” The guy in the hat takes the drink from me and turns to Pen. “These are both for you.”

Confused, she takes the plastic cup and before I can truly process the insult, hat boy steps back to study us.

“That’s better.” He smiles as if he isn’t seconds away from sifting through the sand for the teeth I’m about to knock right out of his head. “Now that your hands are free . . .” He slides his left palm into my grip and tugs me toward the dancing crowd. I don’t truly understand what he’s done until we’re both moving to the music.

“You could have just asked me to dance,” I say, when the rhythm changes and he sways closer.

“Guys ask you to dance all the time, and you forget them before the music even fades. But you’ll remember me.”

I laugh as he twirls me, and the crowd backs away to give us space. “So, who exactly will I be remembering?”

He spins us in sync, with one hand at my back, and people are watching us now. “If I tell you my name, I lose my mysterious edge.”

“Fine. Then where are you from?”

“South Bend.” He pulls me closer when the music changes. His hand slides over my hair and down my back as we settle into a sexy Cuban salsa.

“You did not learn this in Indiana.”

His laugh is low and hot. “I learned this in Santa Clara. But I was born in Indiana.”

A Midwestern boy in a hat. Dancing sexy, street-style salsa on the beach.

I’m hooked.

We dance toward the edge of the crowd, and it closes in behind us. “So, Indiana, why were you in Santa Clara?” I ask, now that I can hear him better.

“Because that’s where the bus dropped me, after Havana.”

“Hey, Genesis, it’s getting dark.” Neda appears out of nowhere, staring nervously at the brilliant pink and orange sunset.

“Yes. That’s a nightly event.” I can’t look away from Indiana.

“Maybe we should head back to the cabana.”

“Relax. We won’t let anything eat you.” I turn her by both shoulders and point her back toward the crowd.