AN: Thank you to my ladies on the BW crew! And thank you everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! I have been slow in replying because I suck (and life is sometimes a beach), but I promise to get to it eventually.

~~o~~

Chapter 2. The First Night

It takes us nine hours to fly from Oregon to Costa Rica, and another two to go through customs and take the shuttle to the place where we will be staying the next three months.

Right on the beach at the Tortuga Reserve and Research Station, is where we will be doing most of our work. Both the reserve and the station are located on Tortuga Beach, part of the Tortuguero National Park in the province of Limón on Costa Rica's northern Caribbean coast.

The research station is very well-equipped, with accommodations for staff who stay overnight, two research labs, and even a port with two research boats.

It's still light out when we arrive, having left during the ungodly hours of the morning, and the first thing Rose and I do is walk to the beach, while Prof. McCarty checks us into the staff cabins.

Tortuga Beach is a crescent-shaped beach, large enough to have areas that are protected and part of the reserve and areas that are open to the public. It's flanked on the south end by a river mouth and a mangrove patch, where the research station is, and on the north end by a rock cliff. Behind it, the beach is surrounded by tropical mountains and a spatter of locals' houses that lead into town.

Being from the Pacific Northwest, I'm used to living by the water, but the palm trees, the warm white sand, and the clear blue waters are nothing I have ever experienced before.

I can smell the sea salt in the air, vaporized in the heat, while the fading daylight warms my face.

Oh, I think I'm going to love it here.

~~o~~

Even though it's dark out, the sand still feels warm between my toes as I make my way to the beach bar. My woven bag is strapped over my shoulder while my sandals dangle in my hand. I don't see the point of wearing them anymore. The sand gets between my feet and the insole, and it makes it uncomfortable to walk.

I'm wearing the yellow floral dress that Rose got for me, the one that twists at the top and makes me look like I actually have boobs. My hair is down. My contacts are in. It's our first night in Costa Rica, and I'm on a mission.

The mission, as Rose and I discussed on the plane, is to find me a one-night stand. There are lots of things I have not done in my life. Casual sex is one of them.

I wish Rose was here with me to be my wing woman, but she suddenly disappeared after getting ready, leaving me to fend for myself, saying we would meet at the bar later.

Classic Rose.

The beach is large and there are several bars along the coast. I can see at least two from where I stand, tiki torches lighting their perimeter.

One looks crowded, and the music plays loudly. The other is a bit farther away, but looks way calmer, so I obviously choose the latter.

Dim yellow lights hang from the edges of the square roof of the bar. I take a seat on one of the stools, facing the ocean. Soft latin music plays from the small speakers that hang on the wooden poles that hold up the structure.

"Hi there." I must have "tourist" written on my forehead because the bartender addresses me in English from the get-go. "I'm Seth. What can I get for you?"

He is cute and friendly. Dark, straight hair, down to his shoulders. He is tall but skinny, with a boyish face and a warm smile. He looks harmless. He would totally be the guy Old Bella would go for, but Rose would never approve. Total "amigo" material, and we agreed no amigos in Costa Rica.

"Hi, yes. Hmm…" I tap my fingertips on the bar, smiling at him. "How about a Corona?"

"Coming right up!" Seth retreats momentarily, leaving me to myself. My eyes roam the bar, when I hear a derisive scoff coming from a couple of stools to my right.

I turn in the direction of the offensive sound, as the night breeze blows my hair in my face. I clear my face with my hand, hoping it looks sexy, but my smile falters as my eyes land on the guy sitting to my right.

Bronze hair that gets lighter as it reaches the tips which fall to just below his ears. Golden tan skin that peeks out from under his light-blue shirt. Green eyes that pierce your soul, hidden under thick, dark lashes.

It is slightly frightening how beautiful he is.

"Is there something wrong with my choice of beer?" I ask him, raising one shoulder flirtatiously. I don't know where my confidence comes from, but I try to make the most out of it.

"Yes. Everything," he says, seriously, then scoffs again.

"Well, I doubt they have any Rainiers."

Seth is back with my beer, and I smile and thank him, before turning to the beautiful stranger a couple stools away from me. I raise my beer in his direction and take a sip. My eyes remain trained on his. I'd say they're beautiful if they weren't so dark and devoid of emotion.

When his gaze darts briefly to the bottle in my hand, he winces, shaking his head before returning his eyes to mine. "Pacific Northwest?"

"Lucky guess?"

"I know my beer." He shrugs smugly. "Seattle?"

"Forks."

"Forks?" His frow burrows in confusion, his lips slightly stretching at the corners.

"Yep."

"Never heard of it."

"Not surprised. Population: 3,120 people." I don't know why I said that. I turn to my beer, slightly mortified.

"Santa Barbara." His voice is like velvet, and it takes me by surprise. "Population: 91,000. I think?" He lets out a soft chuckle, and his eyes squint a little.

My laugh is small and my cheeks burn when he lays his eyes right on me.

I hold his gaze, trying to figure him out. He is slightly slouched onto the bar, his head propped on one hand, while the other cradles his apparently superior beer. His eyes are still intently on me, but they look so… sad? Like someone turned the light off on them.

"Are you here on summer break?" he asks suddenly, waking me up from my daze.

"No," I answer, eyeing him suspiciously, because maybe he just implied I'm still in college.

"Conservationist, then?" The hand that is still wrapped around the beer bottle points a finger at my neck, or rather at the turtle pendant hanging from it. "Or maybe you're just a hippie?"

I roll my eyes at him and his assumptions, trying to hide the fact that my ears still burn from his eyes darting to my chest area. I'm not used to having the girls out and about. I subconsciously pull at the spaghetti straps of the dress, trying to cover a bit more, cursing Rose for purchasing it and for the subsequent unusual attention.

"I am a researcher, actually." I sound smug, defensive. I guess we are both trying to figure each other out, but his first few guesses were completely off.

"Huh." Turning his attention to the back of the bar, he takes another swig of his beer, effectively removing his face—and his eyes—from my field of vision.

I bite my lip, refusing to let our exchange die there.

"What about you?" Maybe it's the beer, or the sips of rum Rose and I shared earlier in our bedroom, but I inch closer to him, my cheek pressed on my shoulder, my eyebrows raised at him.

It feels flirty.

I feel flirty.

Yeah, it's probably the liquid courage coursing through my veins. I am very aware that I am being more forward than I have ever been in my entire life.

"Any guesses?" He bites, his eyes a little playful, but his face is still impenetrable.

I bring the beer to my lips, puckering them around the rim, before I take a sip. He glances ever so slightly at my mouth before looking back at my eyes.

He almost looks annoyed. It makes me smile.

When I catch sight of his chest, exposed under his shirt's open buttons, I smile at his necklace and the surfboard pendant dangling from it.

How dare he make fun of my turtle?

I look up at him, my lips stretching; my guess is almost too obvious.

"Surfer." My calculated guess seems to be correct as his lips twitch. I try not to stare too much but his physique does resemble that of an athlete. "Professional, maybe?"

"Retired, actually," he clarifies.

"Retired?" My voice comes out a little squeaky in surprise. "Aren't you a little young to be retired?"

He doesn't answer but shrugs instead.

I examine his face, his stubble-covered jaw, the small lines that flank his eyes. It looks like he's seen some stuff, but he can't be much older than late twenties. I wonder then why he's retired, so I take another guess.

"Okay. Former surfer. Left his world behind for the peace and quiet of a simple life in the Caribbean. Or how do they say it here?" I tap my lip, pretending to think about it. "Pura vida?"

His eyes widen slightly, and what flashes through them isn't playful anymore. It's sad. It's dark. It's broken. I almost want to apologize for whatever it is I said, when he gets up roughly from his stool.

"Actually, I'm just a ghost," he says through his teeth. His eyes glance behind me and a growl builds inside his chest.

When he bangs a fist on the bar, I jump on my seat. "Jose Cuervo. Neat," he snaps at the bartender and walks away to the other end of the bar, sitting across from me.

What the hell just happened?

He downs two shots before he looks up at me again, shaking his head. Except his eyes are not on me anymore, but on the girl that walks by me, in his direction.

She wears a flowery maxi dress that ends at her feet. It flows behind her with the ocean breeze as she marches closer to him. Her hair is dark and short, barely reaching under her ears.

She takes the seat next to him, her back to me, her shoulders sagging as if with a sigh. He keeps his body straight, facing forward, and doesn't look at her.

I can't hear what she says to him, but it's obvious she is doing all the talking. One shot after another, he takes an earful from her, but other than a brief shake of his head, or a look down at his hands, he seems unaffected by her presence.

I realize I am staring when the bartender asks if I want another one, pointing to my beer, half-drank, and now lukewarm in my hand.

I decline politely and take a sip of the beer, wincing at the warm, bitter taste.

My gaze finds the guy across the bar again. He's downing tequila like it's water, the whole bottle now empty next to his glass. He is still tense, perched on his stool. At some point, it looks like she might be crying, and he does nothing to comfort her. Nothing other than getting impossibly stiffer by the moment.

Okay, so he's an asshole.

My brain goes over scenarios and possibilities of what they are. Old lovers perhaps? Maybe he broke her heart? Maybe he cheated on her?

It's exactly why I don't go for guys like him. Gorgeous. Mysterious. Exactly the type to break a heart or two.

I start convincing myself that this is probably not the guy I want for task numero uno of my Costa Rican adventure, when she finally gets up from her stool and turns to leave.

She takes one step, then another, halting mid-step. I can finally see her face. She's so beautiful. She even looks a bit like him but with darker hair and fairer skin—like she doesn't spend every hour of the day under the sun.

The remnants of tear tracks on her cheeks make it clear to me that she was crying. She looks absolutely devastated.

Her hands are in tiny fists at her sides when she turns back to him. And this time, her voice is louder, so I hear exactly what she says to him.

"You know? I lost him too, Edward. We all did." She takes a moment to breathe, but it comes out like a choked sob. "And somehow we lost you too."

In the next second, she turns away from him and speeds past me. Her sobs intensify with every step.

I look back over my shoulder and notice for the first time that there is a guy awaiting her in the sand, tall and lean, hair blond and wavy. His face is composed as she runs to him and buries her face in his chest. His arms wrap lovingly around her, and he kisses the top of her head, glaring in the direction of the guy who just minutes ago was the object of my infatuation, before he turns them both and they leave.

I stare at my beer for a bit, feeling like I've intruded on a very personal and private matter. When I look up, Seth's eyes are on me, but he looks startled, like I just caught him, and he busies himself cleaning the area of the bar in front of him.

I take a deep breath, almost in preparation, before my eyes find the beautiful stranger across the bar. Edward, I guess. It's what she called him.

His hands scrub his face, elbows over the bar, body slouched. A completely opposite display than what he was a minute ago when receiving an earful from the girl.

In front of her, he was all unaffected face and straight back. He was impassive, indifferent. Stoic. Now on his own, he's slumped over the bar again. Broken, tortured, and just plain-old done. He looks like he could use someone who won't yell at him.

I'm torn, overcome with the urge to be that someone; someone to just listen, to offer no judgment.

He triggers something deep inside of me. Something unfamiliar. Something new. But I'm terrified of it.

I bite my fingernails and consider my options.

Do I stay boring Old Bella and avoid him, play it safe, wait for Rose, and talk to the bartender some more? Or do I embrace the bold New Bella and dig deeper, push beyond my nerves, and get to know this broken, intriguing man that sits across from me?

~~o~~

AN: Can't wait to read what you think!