Joy's smile curled. "And maybe a taste...?"
Ron raised his glass, the motion smooth and quiet. "Well then," he said. "Let's make it a good one."
His eyes moved around the space -- three bare bodies and a fourth about to be folded in -- all of them caught in the hush of steam and suggestion. "To Joy," he said, "and fresh beginnings."
They raised glasses -- the toast soft against the night, against the water -- and Craig caught Shannon's eyes over the rim of his drink. There was something in her expression now, not playfulness, not nerves. Something steadier. Something resigned and curious and lit with a kind of hunger she hadn't named yet.
"What does that mean?" he asked. "Fresh beginnings?"
Joy answered first, tipping her head back toward the stars, her wet skin glowing. "Barcelona,"
