Quicksand

07|| Before Sunrise

AMARA WAS AT THE BEACH IN Andrew's secluded waterfront beach house staring at the endless sea of blue. She could see a fracture of white sand, a gash of zephyr-haunted cliffs and a wide slash of the bay. It was a watery wonderland drenched in a lightning-gold, dusk haze.

"How do you like the view?" Andrew asked, approaching.

"It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like this before."

"It's my favourite place in the whole world." He handed her a glass of fizzy champagne. "My boss lets me use it whenever I'm in Khana."

"It's gorgeous."

"Come." He set his hand on the small of her back. "I have a surprise for you."

The steps from the beach led them to the front door of the house. The benign blue of the walls eulogized the soft brown of the wooden doors and the ancient but hale walkway. Wrapping around an exterior column, a staircase ascended from the entry-level to the stepped rooftop. Just off the foyer, a landing extends promontory-like to form a mezzanine seating area.

There was a table specially decorated with tropical floral arrangements and candle lights. Two seats were placed closely together facing the ocean.

"I feel underdressed," she said.

"You're perfect."

Andrew pulled out her chair and she took a seat. She ran her fingers through the white flowers in the vase. "Are these Cattleya orchids."

"My favourite flowers."

A man in uniform, she assumed was the waiter, interrupted them with bottles of wine.

"You decide," Andrew offered.

"I don't know much about wine. I can't tell the difference one from the other."

"I assumed you were a master sommelier since you're a waitress."

"I serve," she stated. "But I drink any kind of wine."

The waiter poured her a glass from a bottle labelled Leoville Barton. She took a sip. On the palate, the wine was plush and full-bodied. It was augmented by sagebrush undertones with gritty tannins, zippy acid, and a persistent finish.

"Thank you."

The waiter returned a brighter smile. "Enjoy!" he said, before leaving.

Andrew raised his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." They clinked their glasses together. Amara took another sip of the wine, enjoying the sweet oak spice. "Are all your dates this fancy?"

"No. I don't wine and dine most of the women I get with. I don't need to," he stated confidently.

"Does it come that easily for you?"

"It's not my fault that I am who I am."

Amara kept eye contact as she sipped her wine, "who are you exactly?"

"A good looking, well-off bachelor."

"You're so full of yourself, that's what you are."

The smile that blew across his face was the kind movie stars give on red carpets—that much wattage, that much charm. "Some might interpret it as confidence."

"Or borderline narcissism. Which makes me wonder what you want from me. I don't think I'm the kind of woman you often date."

"What kind of women do you think I date?"