Elena sipped at the Turkish coffee, grimacing at the strange bitter flavor that, no matter how many times she ordered it in fumbling Arabic, just didn’t taste any better than the first twenty times.

She swallowed it down anyway—it’ll get easier; it’s part of the experience—and sighed happily, enjoying the warm breeze caressing her on the balcony. This was their last morning in Beirut, Lebanon, before she and her friend Aubrey gallivanted onward to Europe. After six weeks on the road, backpacking and sightseeing and gawking and giggling, she found it hard to accept the fact that their trip was halfway over.

Which meant real life loomed just around the corner.

She brought the cup to her mouth again to take a sip but thought better of it. She smiled out at the azure Mediterranean Sea, watching the bustle and clamor of the street below. Cars honked, people filled the sidewalks, and street vendors proffered strange sacks in harsh voices. Gorgeous women strutted in high fashion, oversized sunglasses complementing inky black tresses. She had to pinch herself sometimes to remind herself this was real.

Her parents would have been thrilled to know she’d made it this far. To Lebanon, of all places. The Middle East, the farthest from home she’d ever ventured. Her heart tightened in the way it always did when reflecting on accomplishments since her parents’ passing, a mixture of pride and sadness. If only they could see her. Good lord, would they be proud of her. A fresh college grad, seeing the world. Less than two months away from taking the leap into trying to make it on her own as an artist.

“Hey, girl.” Aubrey’s voice cut through Elena’s reverie. She turned to greet her friend, pushing aside the diaphanous drapes lining the balcony door to step inside.

“So, it turns out checkout is in half an hour,” Aubrey said, flopping onto the skinny twin bed. Elena set her coffee down on the small dresser by the balcony door. “Leaving here at noon was apparently a pipe dream. The sign on the reception desk made it sound like there were stern consequences for overstaying our reservation. Or maybe it was just a bad translation.”

“Shit.” Elena surveyed the explosion of clothes, the still-wet towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

“Yeah. We better get a move on.” Aubrey let out a long sigh. “Although we could always reserve an extra night here…”

Elena tutted. “No can do. We have a schedule to maintain.” She tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist. Who knew where they’d be if it weren’t for her rigid punctuality. If left to her own devices, Aubrey would probably still be in Jordan, lurking around the haunting caverns and monoliths of Petra.

“I know, I know.” Aubrey sighed, rolling onto her side. “But seriously, not even an extra day?”

Elena leveled her with a look. “We paid for a ferry to Cyprus tonight.”

“You’re right.” Aubrey groaned, rolling off the bed. “Time to fill up Ol’ Lumpy.”

Elena smirked at the pet name for her backpack her friend had coined during their trip. The two made excellent travel partners, which didn’t surprise her because they’d also been excellent roommates in college. They’d been random roommates their freshman year, hit it off like long-lost twins, and had been inseparable ever since. If they had shared the same major, that would have been the only thing to make college better—but Aubrey’s degree in history only matched Elena’s major in fine arts in their mutual appreciation for very old art.

Elena gathered the loose sheets of paper from the small desk near the balcony door, the sketches she’d started outlining over the course of their trip. It seemed every other turn presented her with a new sight, a new moment, a new hue to capture. She’d have enough painting material for a decade after this trip—and maybe, just maybe, it would turn into a lucrative series down the road. The only thing urging her homeward was the itchy desire to feel the acrid sting of paint thinner in the air as she started with a blank canvas.

If only there’d been a way to fit her easel, five canvases, and the entirety of her oil paint collection in this twenty-liter backpack. Like airport security would have let you through with the paint thinner.

“Elena, do you want these?” Aubrey held up a handful of postcards from the nightstand between the two twin beds. Elena squinted, recognizing them as the postcards she’d bought to write to her parents.

“Yes, I need those!” She leaned forward to grab them, flipping one over to confirm the letter she’d begun.

Dear Mom & Pops,

Sometimes, it seems like writing these letters means I could actually send them, and maybe you’d receive them. Like any other traveling daughter experiencing the world. But I know when I get home you won’t be there. You’d think after three years I’d have gotten used to this a little bit more.

The postcard wasn’t finished, but that could be taken care of later, during their boat ride to the island. Writing letters she’d never send had been an unexpected project during the trip—somehow a therapy and a memento at the same time. They didn’t make her as sad as she might have thought. Rather, it made her feel even closer to them, especially as she embarked upon such new adventures as a freshly minted college graduate.

Elena organized all her papers and sketches into a small folder and then got to work stuffing her backpack. Leggings, tank tops, long sleeves—every manner of quick-drying, easily folded travel wear. Nothing spiffy, except for the one nice dress she’d brought in case of an emergency fancy outing. She still hadn’t worn it.

“I swear my underwear count keeps dwindling,” Aubrey muttered as she stuffed some pieces into her own bag.

“Like socks in a dryer,” Elena said. “The hotel floors must inhale underwear. Their only sustenance.”

Aubrey frowned. “Creepy. And weirdly poetic.”

Elena smiled and hummed as she finished packing, then did a final sweep of the room and bathroom. All set. With just three minutes to spare, she and Aubrey slung their packs over their shoulders and tottered down the stairs to the lobby of the small hotel.

At the gleaming hotel desk, a woman with platinum blonde hair and dark roots smiled at them. Aubrey breezed up to speak first, as she’d grown accustomed to taking the reins. “We’re checking out of room 303.”

The woman smiled sweetly and a long string of Arabic came out. Elena furrowed her brow, trying to catch any word she recognized. Marhaba was all she caught. Damnit, Elena. You should have studied harder while you’ve been here.

Aubrey glanced at Elena then turned back to the receptionist. “I’m sorry?”

Another string of rapid Arabic, followed by a giggle. The receptionist seemed embarrassed—or something—and Aubrey and Elena shared open-mouthed looks.

“Well, here’s our key…” Aubrey slid their key card over the counter top, pointing at the staircase, then at the sliding doors behind them. “We’re going now.” She waved. “Done here. Bye bye. Mas el saleme. Chokran.”

The three shared an awkward smile until Aubrey and Elena began backing away slowly.

“Does she know we’re checking out?” Elena asked under breath. “We paid, right?”

“We paid,” Aubrey said. “But I’m just not sure if there’s anything else to the checkout procedure. She sure can’t tell us.”

“And we sure can’t ask her,” Elena said, hooking both her arms into the backpack straps. “God, Arabic is hard. I wish I had studied way longer than the past few weeks.” The front door of the hotel slid open as they approached it, revealing a clamorous, humid world beyond. The sea sparkled on the horizon, though the noise and chaos of the busy Beirut street made a stark contrast to the apparent calm of the water.

“You’re telling me. And now, we’ve gotta switch to Greek.” Aubrey grinned devilishly. “I can’t wait to bust out some of the ancient Greek I learned in college.”

“That seems like it might be useful only if we find a time machine.” Elena elbowed her friend. “Okay, where we going now? Someplace to hang until we head to the port?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Aubrey reached into the pocket of her small cross-body purse. “I wrote down the name of this popular café where we can go get coffee and use the internet and stuff. Let me find it.”

While Aubrey hunted in her purse, people ebbed and flowed on the streets, sometimes jostling or knocking into them, their large backpacks making them even more of a roadblock. After enough brusque pushing and grumbling from passers-by, Elena grabbed her friend's hand. “Let’s just start walking.”

Aubrey continued to hunt for the scrap of paper as they moved down the sidewalk, the clatter of Arabic vowels swirling in the conversations around them. After about a block, Elena spotted a closed-in patio area, along with vining greenery and a decorative sign. Though she couldn’t read it, she had high hopes it was a café.

“Let’s stop here and get our bearings,” Elena suggested. As they neared, she spotted the tell-tale white wi-fi sticker on the front window. “It even has internet.”

Aubrey nodded. “Great. I could use a mid-morning snack. Sort of like a reward for checking out of the hotel on time.”

Elena giggled. “Just like we reward ourselves for waking up on time, or successfully hailing a cab, or sometimes just existing in the vicinity of a savory treat.”

“Exactly.” Aubrey grinned, pushing open the small wrought iron gate separating the busy sidewalk from the shrouded patio. Flowers and coiling vines lined the small open-air space, and an intoxicating scent hung in the air. Soft music pulsed from speakers by the door; through the front door, a warm and inviting café gave off a welcoming vibe. Exactly the sort of trendy gem they liked to find on the road.

Elena glanced around for the best table for chatting and people watching. A man sat in the corner of the patio, leaning back into his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee as he studied his phone. Elena felt something sizzle inside her, like the soldering of wax to a surface at high heat. The man was riveting. Gorgeous, with a square, rugged jaw and dark, thick hair. His clothing suggested wealth—crisp, perfectly tailored slacks and a button-up shirt made from material that looked almost shiny. Silk, maybe?

The bare shadow of stubble on his jaw caught in a ray of light breaking through the latticed patio awning. Her breath caught in her throat—God, it would be so nice to sketch this man. It would be nicer to get him to take his clothes off and maybe put those pouty, expressive lips all over her body…but drawing would suffice.

The man pocketed his phone suddenly, jerking his gaze up. His eyes landed on her, scorching through her, and she froze as Aubrey pulled open the door, holding it for her. Elena gulped, unsure whether the look on the man’s face was one of offense or confusion or something else. It was never fun to discover someone staring at you. But this guy has to know how damn hot he is…

The guy smiled briefly. And then he winked.

Elena’s cheeks heated up, and she lurched into motion when Aubrey cleared her throat. Her friend wore a mock look of annoyance. “Little distracted, are we?”

The door swung shut behind her, and they were in a new world suddenly—the cacophony of a café, the wafting aromas of coffee and pastries, the pleasant hum of chatter and business meetings.

“He would be a great model,” Elena said finally, stumbling behind Aubrey as they made their way to the line. “Very good…profile.”

“He’d be a great lay,” Aubrey clarified, eyes on the menu board behind the cash register. “Do you want anything? Maybe we can just get the wireless password for now.”

“You need to buy something to get the wireless password,” the register employee said in a thick accent.

Aubrey nodded, grimacing. “In that case, I’ll have an almond croissant. You want anything?”

Elena shook her head, and the employee rang up the purchase. Aubrey dove back into her purse, scrounging for the cash. The front door of the café opened, and in sauntered the rugged man from outside. Hands in his pockets, his gait the exact definition of measured cool, Elena’s neck heated up the closer he got. His eyes were on her, too. Like a tractor beam.

Elena swallowed hard, painfully aware of the man standing behind her, maybe only millimeters away. Was that his breath on her neck? She glanced behind her—the man was standing a totally normal distance away, definitely not within neck-breathing territory—and then jerked her gaze back toward Aubrey.

“Do you have any extra pounds?” Aubrey turned to her, face creased with confusion. “I can’t find my cash—I’m freaking out.”

“Shit.” Elena rummaged through her own purse, pausing when the man behind spoke up in a smooth baritone. A long stream of Arabic flowed out of his mouth, the employee behind the register nodding and saying something in return. Elena and Aubrey shared wide eyes.

“He’s buying your food,” the employee said then, pointing behind them.

Elena’s heart raced and she turned to face him again. His dark eyes were waiting for her, a knowing smile on his face.