How could I see her again

I woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains of my hotel room. Despite the warm light pooling on the bed, I couldn't muster any energy to get up.

My mind was still stuck on last night: the way the chef's smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, the practiced grace of her hands as she plated that dish, and the lingering scent of garlic, herbs, and something else something uniquely her.

I groaned, dragging a pillow over my face. I didn't even know her name, but there I was, replaying every second of our interaction like some lovesick fool. Not that I was lovesick. It was curiosity. Nothing more.

Finally, I forced myself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

The coolness jolted me, but it didn't help me forget. By the time I joined my family for breakfast, I had resolved to at least act like I wasn't obsessing over some grumpy, tattooed chef.

The dining room was buzzing with morning chatter. Rowena was already halfway through a plate of pancakes, her face smeared with syrup, while our moms Riley and Seraphine sipped coffee at a leisurely pace.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Rowena said, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Don't start," I warned, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Too late. I already started." She grinned, shoving another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

"Girls," Seraphine said, her tone light but laced with that don't-push-it edge only a mom could pull off. "Can we get through one meal without you two bickering?"

"Doubtful," Riley muttered, sipping her coffee.

I smirked. "See, Mom gets it."

"Okay, seriously," Rowena cut in, waving her fork for emphasis. "What's the plan today? Are we going to do something fun, or are we just going to sit here while Rhiannon takes forty years to look at her phone?"

"I don't take forty years," I shot back.

"You took an hour to come to dinner last night. That's practically the same thing."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I forgot that your idea of 'fun' is throwing a volleyball at people's faces."

"That was one time!"

"And yet, here we are, still talking about it."

"Girls," Seraphine repeated, her tone firmer this time. "Decide. Beach or something else?"

"Beach," Rowena said immediately, her syrup-sticky hand shooting into the air like a kid in class.

"Why do you even ask if you've already decided?" I asked, glaring at her.

"Because I wanted to give you the illusion of choice. You're welcome."

Before I could hurl a piece of toast at her, Riley interjected. "The beach sounds fine. We could use a day to relax. Right, love?"

Seraphine nodded. "As long as nobody ends up on fire."

Rowena gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "That was one time too!"

"It was three times," I corrected.

Rowena glared at me. "Okay, Miss Perfect. What do you want to do?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, Seraphine cut in. "You're going to the beach, both of you. End of discussion."

"Ugh, fine," Rowena grumbled. "But if Rhiannon spends the whole time staring at her phone instead of having fun, I'm calling it."

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't respond. If she wanted to think I was distracted because of my phone, that was fine by me. No need for her to know what—or who—was really occupying my thoughts.

Breakfast was another exercise in pretending I wasn't preoccupied. I sipped orange juice, nibbled on a croissant, and made half-hearted conversation, all while sneaking glances at the open kitchen.

But she wasn't there.

The disappointment settled in my chest like a heavy weight. I told myself it was ridiculous to care. She was just a chef a ridiculously attractive, tattooed chef with a smirk that could probably get her arrested in some countries but still, just a chef.

And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

"So, what's up with you?" Rowena asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

"Nothing," I said quickly, stabbing at my fruit salad a little too aggressively.

"You've been weird since last night."

"I'm not weird."

"You're always weird, but this is a whole new level of weird."

"Rowena," Riley warned, her tone sharp enough to make Rowena back off at least for the moment.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation, my mind drifting back to the kitchen. Where was she? Would she be working later? Did she know how frustratingly distracting she was?

By the time we finished breakfast, I had made up my mind. I'd find a way to see her again. Not because I cared or anything, but because I needed closure. Purely physical closure.

The beach was as lively as ever, the sound of waves crashing against the shore mingling with laughter and music.

Rowena was already halfway down the sand, yelling something about finding the perfect spot, while our moms followed at a more leisurely pace.

I trailed behind, my feet sinking into the warm sand as I walked. Normally, I loved the beach the sun, the ocean breeze, the sense of freedom it brought.

But today, I could barely focus on anything other than the memory of her hands, her voice, her smirk.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts. This was getting ridiculous. I didn't even know her name. She was probably just another random encounter, someone I'd forget in a week or two.

Except I didn't want to forget.

I glanced up, spotting Rowena setting up towels and umbrellas with an enthusiasm that was honestly kind of obnoxious.

"Rhiannon, move your ass!" she called, waving a hand.

I rolled my eyes but picked up the pace, plastering on a neutral expression as I joined them.

The day stretched on, filled with typical beach activities swimming, lounging, and Rowena trying to convince everyone to join her in a game of beach volleyball.

I played along, laughing and pretending everything was fine, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the dining room, to her.

What was it about her that had me so wrapped up?

I didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear: I needed to see her again. Not just to satisfy my curiosity, but to prove to myself that I could handle whatever it was about her that had me so off-balance.

The question was, how?