After our time at the racetrack we did a bit of sightseeing, walking down along a quiet beach and playing around in the waves that lapped against the soft sand. Raphael had one of those professional cameras around his neck and took pictures as I danced in the water, giving him a couple vogue expressions for the sake of it.
I might have taken the pretend to be an alluring model thing too far because we ended up having a few more...moments.
We watched the sunset, before heading to a small beachside restaurant. There was an outdoor area and we ate there, before he, quite literally, dragged me onto the large gazebo where a band was playing and some people were dancing.
He took my hands and spun me around, leading me in a lighthearted waltz.
The band started up a jazz tune, the singer starting a rather good rendition of Frank Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight.
Raphael held me close to him, and I couldn’t help but smile into his shoulder. The other dancers had realized somehow that we were professional and cleared a space for us in the center, but I couldn’t focus on anyone but Sutton as we stepped in time to each other.
I hadn’t realized it, but dancing with him felt so...natural. I didn’t have to think about my technique or glance at my feet every so often, I just...moved. It felt as if I’d been born dancing with him, the way my hands fit perfectly in his and how I managed to sense when a turn or drop was coming.
We danced half the night away, the moon flying overhead. It almost felt as if time went by too quickly. I could have stayed with him on that gazebo forever, with the plinking of piano keys and the smooth voice of the singer washing over me and his arms around me.
Eventually the band started to pack up and Raphael and I strolled back out onto the beach, my shoes in one hand and his hand in the other.
I stopped suddenly, surprised and pointed up to the midnight-blue sky.
“Is that a shooting star?”
Raphael looked at the tiny streak of silver and shook his head.
After a few minutes there was another, and then another. My mouth fell open as I started to lose count, hundreds and hundreds of them falling as far as the eye could see.
“It’s a meteor shower.” Raphael explained, his fingers lacing through mine.
The entire sky seemed to be filled with them, and I felt as though they were multiple strokes of silver paint made with a thin paintbrush, countless times on an endless canvas.
“So are you.”
I didn’t comment on his cheesiness, and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“If you say so.”