Chapter 1: Sunburn and a Stolen Phone
The Miami heat was a physical weight. It pressed down on Josh’s bare shoulders, seeped through the cheap plastic of his lounger, and made the cold bottle of Corona in his hand sweat almost as much as he was. His head throbbed a dull, consistent beat in time with the distant thump of a reggaeton bassline. Last night had been a mistake, but the kind of mistake that felt worth it at the time—too many rum shots, a blur of neon lights, and the laughter of his mates ringing in his ears. Now, under the brutal clarity of the South Beach sun, he felt like a piece of meat left on the grill.He squinted against the glare.The beach was a chaos of colour and sound. Neon umbrellas dotted the gold sand like giant sweets. The air smelled of coconut oil, salt, and fried food. A lifeguard tower, painted in stark red and white stripes, stood watch over the teeming mass of tanned, glistening bodies.
“You look like death warmed over, mate.” That was Rob, sprawled beside him, his pasty Lincoln skin already turning an alarming shade of pink.
“Feel worse,” Josh grunted, taking a swig of his beer.The bubbles felt good. He ran a hand through his long, curly black hair, gritty with sand and salt. A bricklayer’s hands, rough and calloused, against his own scalp. The contrast between this and a wet Tuesday on a building site in Lincoln was almost laughable. He dreamed of something more, always had, but the ‘what’ was as shapeless as the heat haze shimmering above the sand.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, the world tilting slightly.His foot, digging into the sand for balance, hit something hard. Not a shell.He glanced down. A sliver of glossy black plastic peeked out from the granules.He hooked it with his toe and levered it free.A phone. A very expensive-looking phone, caked in sand.“Score,” Rob mumbled, eyes closed.
Josh picked it up, wiped the screen on his shorts.It was locked, of course. A cascade of notifications lit up the dark display: LyndaB_fitness, @LyndaB_fitness, MiamiShoot 2pm.Some influencer thing, probably. He looked around, expecting to see someone frantically patting their pockets.“Oi!You! Yes, you!”
The voice cut through the beach noise, sharp and clear.He looked up.
A woman was storming towards him, carving a path through the sunbathers. The sun framed her from behind, turning her long, blonde curls into a frenzied golden halo. She was tall, athletic in a way that spoke of discipline, not just genetics. Her green eyes, even from ten feet away, were like laser points. She wore a simple black one-piece that showed off powerful shoulders and a narrow waist, and her expression was pure thunder.
She stopped right in front of his lounger, planting her feet in the sand.She didn’t look like she’d been running. She looked angry, and completely in control of it.“That’s mine,” she said, holding out a hand. Her tone left no room for argument.It was a statement of fact.
Josh felt his own hackles rise, the hangover making him contrary.He leaned back, the plastic lounger creaking. He held up the phone between his thumb and forefinger, like a piece of evidence. “This?”
“Don’t be clever.Give it here.”
“Nice way to say thank you. I just saved it from getting buried or nicked.” He flashed her the cheeky grin that usually smoothed things over. It felt a bit weak today.“Thank you?” She let out a short, humourless laugh. “I saw you pick it up.I was watching from the showers. For all I know, you were about to pocket it.”
Rob snorted beside him but wisely said nothing.Josh’s grin tightened. “Right. Because I, a total stranger, knew exactly where you’d be watching from and decided to steal your phone in plain view of you and a thousand other people. Brilliant plan.”
Her lips, a slash of pink gloss, pressed together. She wasn’t used to being talked back to, he could tell. He watched her take him in: the dark curls, the broad build, the cheeky challenge in his brown eyes. She was assessing him, not as a threat, but as a problem.
“Can I have my property back, please?” The ‘please’ was gritted out.“What’s the passcode?” he asked, not moving.
“Why?”
“To prove it’s yours. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not just trying to nick it off me? This is a nice phone.” He enjoyed the flare of outrage in her eyes.It was better than the heatstroke feeling.
“It’s 0915,” she snapped.He tapped it in. The screen unlocked, immediately opening to a photo from what looked like a professional shoot.It was her, in athletic wear, laughing under perfect studio lights. LyndaB_fitness.Confirmed.He handed it over. Her fingers brushed his, quick and dry.She inspected the phone for sand, her movements efficient.“See? Saviour of the day,” Josh said, spreading his hands. “You could buy me a drink to make up for the false accusation.”
She finally looked at him properly, those green eyes sweeping from his face down to his torso and back up.It was clinical, almost. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Scared I’ll prove more interesting than your… fitness followers?” He nodded at the phone.
A flicker of something crossed her face—surprise, maybe, that he’d clocked her.“I’m not scared of anything,” she said, her voice lower now. “I’m just selective. And you’re dripping beer and poor decisions.”
He laughed, genuinely.She was sharp.“It’s a holiday.Poor decisions are the point. Come on, one drink. I’m Josh.” He offered the grin again, turning it up a notch.She studied him for another long second.The weight of her gaze was different now. Less angry, more curious.The stern set of her shoulders softened a fraction. “Lynda,” she said finally.Then she shook her head, the blonde curls catching the light.“And no. I’ve got a shoot.But… thanks. For not being a thief.”
She turned to leave, the conversation clearly terminated in her mind.“Lynda!” he called after her.
She paused, glanced back over her shoulder, one perfect eyebrow arched.“You dropped your guard.For a second there. I saw it.”
For the first time, a real, uncalculated expression broke through—a faint, surprised smile that touched her eyes before she could stop it. It transformed her face, made her look younger, less like a statue.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, and then she was walking away, her posture once again impeccable, merging back into the crowd towards the sleek hotels, leaving Josh on his cheap lounger with his warm beer and a strange, twisting feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the hangover.
He watched her until she disappeared, a black swimsuit in a sea of florals and rainbows.“Wow,” Rob whistled. “Bit intense.”
“Yeah,” Josh said, finishing his beer.The bottle was warm now. He felt abruptly, profoundly bored with the sand, the sun, his mates, the whole lazy day stretching ahead. The encounter had been like a splash of cold water.Charged.Real. He’d touched a live wire, and for a moment, it had buzzed right back.
He stood up, brushing sand from his legs.“I’m going for a walk.”
“What? It’s boiling.”
“Exactly. Need to clear my head.”
He trudged up the beach towards the shade of the palm trees and the promise of a proper, cold drink from a bar that didn’t involve plastic chairs. The image of her—the sharp green eyes, the way she’d tried so hard not to smile—stuck with him.LyndaB_fitness.Guarded. Disciplined.A world away from everything he knew.
He’d barely reached the concrete walkway when his own phone buzzed. A message from the group chat with the lads, a meme about last night’s exploits.He grinned, typing back a crude joke.This was his world. Simple, straightforward.
But as he shoved his phone back in his pocket, his fingers still felt the ghost of that brief, electric brush against hers. He looked back once at the endless, shimmering beach, but she was long gone.The momentum of the day, however, had shifted. Something had cracked open. The holiday, and maybe more, suddenly felt full of possibility.