Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
chapter four / the tide is high
Even with tired limbs and paranoia prepared for takeoff in her buzzing mind, Lani Tūrei still managed to convince Ilyshah to part from her nestled position between the sheets to follow her and Sarah Cameron down the bush track to the Boneyard—where a kegger bound a truce between the Kooks and Pogues.
An air of coconut sweetness followed Ilyshah down to the sand as she adjusted the mini sunset printed sarong that sat low on her hips, and with the sweltering heat not yet died down it was enough to wear only a bikini top on the top half just in case Sarah wanted to go for their drunken dips under a twilight sky. She trailed behind Lani and Kelce, and giggled to herself as Sarah in all her glory climbed atop a rusted over red tower and looked out to the crowd below like a captain of her own vessel.
JJ Maybank came to be distracted in conversation with a bleach blonde Touron as their gazes met from afar with her fleeting soft smile, an unspoken moment that ended within mere seconds as another figure faded in from the blushing sunset—crisp linen button down intact with his sternum bare, freshly peeled skin kissed by the Italian sun until golden to a crisp, a crooked toothy grin and intense glossed over set of eyes which instantly lit up at the sight of Ilyshah.
"Oh my god," Ilyshah whispered, before breaking into a glee filled laugh as she set off on her feet towards him. "Spence!" the moment she leapt into his arms she pirouetted in his tight, warm embrace.
"Surprise," Spencer Fishers muffled into her shoulder, covering her skirt with one arm to prevent it riding up by the wind.
She gasped once he dropped her back onto the sand as she fixed the lime green cap on her head and fought back a giddy smile. "How? I didn't think you were coming back for another week."
"Don't ask, I've been in the car for over a day since we got off the jet and I need a mai tai."
Ilyshah raked her fingers through his fluffy, close to shaggy head of hair with a scrunched up nose. "You can't get haircuts in Italy?"
"Stai zitto," He delivered a light smack to her hand as she cackled, ruffling up his own hair meekly. "It's a new style I'm trying out."
"You should try a mullet next," She teased, giving a playful shove to which he retaliated with the same action.
Out of all the Kook male kind on this island, Spencer Fishers was her only favourite fish in the Figure Eight sea. From the second they met on the lawn of a party, meteors dancing above them in hours of delight, she knew he was different from the others. No sleazy pickup lines, nor dull conversations about crypto or how much he benched. Not only was he the only Kook she witnessed on the beach riding an actual surfboard, what piqued her interest the most was the long drunken theoretical rant he went on about . . . the plot of Finding Nemo.
