Author's Note: I decided to continue with this to make it into a full fledged story. It might be a long short story, but I wanted to continue nonetheless. I adore Sokka and everything about him. Hope you like the second chapter.

Marisol awakened on cloud nine. Last night felt like a glorious dream. The moonlight skinny dip with the handsome artist had been a magnificent experience. Too bad it had to end.

After kissing her, they swam to shore. She couldn't find her dress. Apparently she had left it too close to the edge and the ocean claimed it as its own. Sokka gave her his hoodie to wear. Thank goodness for his height so the jacket covered her down to her mid-thigh.

They walked back to the gallery which had all but emptied at this point. Only the catering company servers, a few die hard fans (sometimes known as stalkers) remained along with the gallery owner and curator.

The curator is her friend, but there was no way she was going inside to tell her good-bye looking like a drowned rat and wearing only Sokka's hoodie and her underwear.

Marisol grabbed Sokka's hand as they tiptoed past the wall of windows at the front of the gallery that offered an unobstructed view of the sidewalk. Bending her knees and skulking along like some sort of cartoon criminal, Sokka laughed at her as they made their way to the parking lot where her car was parked. Her decision to drive rather than catching a cab had been a good one.

"But how - " he began to ask, cutting off his words when he saw her bend down to reach under the wheel well of her front tire. She popped open the little metal box to reveal a key. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, so there's the key. I shudder the think where you would have been hiding that otherwise."

Marisol giggled as she unlocked the car door. She did not want to leave it, but the time for the dream to end had come. With one last kiss, his strong arms embracing her tightly, she reluctantly pulled herself away from his embrace and got into her car.

"Oh! Your jacket!" she exclaimed. But did she dare to take it off and drive home naked?

"Don't worry about it," he said, bending down to lean inside and kiss her cheek. "Keep it, donate it, throw it away...do whatever you want to with it. I only wish I had something to keep to remember you."

Marisol reached up to pull the decorative hair pin out of her bun. The two pronged pin looked like the eye of a peacock feather.

"Here," she said, placing it in his hand. "Take this."

"Huh...isn't that something," Sokka murmured, turning the pin over and over in his hand. Casting a glimpse at her face, his eyes connected briefly with hers then returned to examining the pin.

"What?" she asked, chuckling nervously.

"The coloring on this pin is inverse to that of a real peacock feather. The green is on the inside and surrounded by the blue. The green is the same exact shade of your eyes," he said, caressing her cheek with his fingers as he looked into her eyes.

"Oh," she gasped before he leaned in and stole one last kiss.

"Go. I'll never forget you. And thank you," he said, closing the car door.

Marisol would never forget him either. Before she could roll down her window and ask what he was thanking her for, Sokka turned and jogged away. Sighing, her heart heavy in her chest, she watched him disappear around the corner of the building.

Just go, Marisol. Leave it and take the good memory with you, she advised herself.

"Everything ends eventually, but the memories last forever," she told herself to avoid letting the sadness in. "Some things are meant to stay a sweet dream. It's better that way. Yeah, better."

So why did her heart ache? Why did the loneliness feel so profound this morning? She had taken this vacation to escape the unbearable sense of being alone that had permeated her a few days before when she visited her husband's grave.

Marisol was standing in the cemetery staring at the date of death carved into the marble headstone. Exactly a year ago to this very day, her husband died. It was as if her friend knew where she was at. Her phone rang.

"Hi, there," she sniffed.

"Hey," her friend said, her voice low, almost a whisper as if being respectful of the dead. "Pack your bags."

"What?"

"There's a plane ticket waiting for you at the airport. Pack a suitcase and come see me."

"But I can't - "

"Don't tell me you can't take the time off," her friend cut her off. "I already know you took this week off. You're smart enough to know you're going to be an emotional train wreck on the anniversary of his death...and so am I. So instead of holing up in your house, drinking wine, and crying for a week, come see me. Spend a few days at the beach. Oh, and I also have an exhibition for this hot new artist at the gallery this week."

Marisol smiled. At the time, she did not realize hot not only referred to his career but the artist himself as well. Her fingers gingerly touched her lips, recalling Sokka's tender kiss. God, he had made her feel things with a simple kiss she swore she would never feel again.

She groaned despondently. The attractive and captivating man reminded her she had not died along with her husband. She had not suffered a physical death nor an emotional demise after all.

Grabbing the pillow, she slammed it over her face and screamed into its fluffy softness. Life could be a real bitch sometimes.

The knock on her hotel room door nipped her tantrum in the bud. Flinging off the pillow, she listened to make sure she had not been hearing things. The knock came again, launching her off the bed.

Could it possibly be - She snatched open the door, scaring the bejeebers out of the teenage boy standing there. Dressed in a turquoise and mint green uniform that matched the hotel's ocean water color scheme, his wide blue eyes blinked at her.

"Yes?"

"A gentleman left a message for you at the front desk," he said, extending a small square of paper to her.

Marisol wanted to snatch the paper out of his hand like a starving woman seizes food.

"Hang on a second," she returned, turning back into her room.

Remembering her manners, she decided she should tip him for delivering the message. Her fingers shook with anticipation as she rummaged for her wallet in her purse. She prayed the message is from Sokka.

Trading one piece of paper for another, Marisol closed the door behind her. Her heart took flight threatening to fly right out of her chest.

Thank you for last night.

Giddiness overtook her making her giggle like a maniac. She should be thanking him. Last night he enabled her to experience an epiphany: she realized she could get beyond the pain of losing her husband to feel things, lots of things, again.

There was more written on the paper. Sokka had really nice handwriting. She read on.

If you are interested, please meet me at the Moondrop Cafe for coffee.

"Am I interested?" she asked herself. "Do fish swim in the sea?"

I will be there until ten.

Marisol dove for the bed and grabbed her phone. 9:45. SHIT! She quickly read the last line of the note. He did not give her much time to get there. Why didn't he just wait around in the lobby for her?

P.S. I'm not a stalker. I asked the curator about you. She said you were staying here.

She laughed and rolled off the bed to get dressed. The thought never crossed her mind that he might be a stalker. He was far too nice of a guy for that. He was respectful enough not to show up at her room like creeper but asked her to meet him at a cafe.

Marisol hurriedly pulled on a purple sundress covered with pink butterflies. Stepping into her pink espadrilles, she wished she had packed flat sandals. But at least these were platforms giving her a wider more solid base than heels. While not necessarily being able to run, she could certainly pull off a speed walk.

With a quick stop at the front desk to ask for directions to the Moondrop Cafe, she was on her way. Thankfully, the place was only a few blocks down the street.

Marisol did a fast time check on her phone while waiting for the crossing sign to change when she was a mere block away. Five minutes after ten. Damn.

"Come on, come on," she chanted, willing the sign to change to WALK.

When it finally did, she pumped her fists in the air and shimmied her hips to add a little speed to her walk. As she neared the cafe, she saw Sokka sitting in the outdoor seating area out front under a green umbrella. He toyed with the handle on his cup before reaching for his phone sitting on the table to check the time.

Although he set his phone down and made no move to leave, Marisol broke into a run willing to risk a turned ankle should she topple off of the stacked heels. When she reached the black wrought iron enclosure, he was picking up his cup to take the last sip.

"Hi! Hey!" she called, smiling broadly as he looked at her over the rim of his cup. She waved.

His intense blue eyes widened. When he put down the cup, she could see his brilliant smile. The contrast of his white teeth against his dark complexion made his smile even more vivid.

"Wow," she sighed, mesmerized by his gorgeous eyes and smile.

"You look..." he paused, which made her bite her lower lip.

"Like a mess?" she guessed. She had forgotten to brush her hair which was probably a hopelessly tousled curly disaster after going to bed with a wet head. Plus there was the whole running thing.

"No. Beautiful," he said. "I can't help but wonder if you look like that every morning."

Marisol wasn't wearing make up. Her face is most likely flushed and sweaty from the impromptu jog.

But he thinks I'm beautiful, she shot back at that voice of self-doubt in her head.

"Can I get you something?" the server asked as she walked up to the table, assuming correctly that the woman still standing on the sidewalk would be joining Sokka.

"An iced coffee please. And Ice water," Marisol requested. Then she glanced at Sokka making a circular motion with her hand. "I'll come around. Give me a second."

"Well, how about this?" he suggested, reaching over the three foot tall barrier to pick her up in a princess carry.

Marisol resisted the urge to squeal with surprise and glee when he lifted her over the short fence. The muscles in his arms, left bare by his blue tank top, flexed and moved against her skin. For an artist he was extremely well built. Apparently he must lift weights as well as paint brushes.

"Thank you," she exhaled as he set her down on her feet.

"No problem," he returned, blinding her with another thousand watt smile. "I was hoping you would get the message in time."

"I'll admit I was afraid of missing you the timing so close," she confessed, taking a seat on the thin cushion in the heavy cast iron chair. "You didn't give me a whole lot of time to get ready."

"I didn't, did I? Sorry about that. I'm impressed though. Anyway, I would have hung around a while," he assured her. "Good things are worth waiting for."

"Here you go," the peppy blonde server interrupted, setting both tall glasses full of icy cold beverages in front of her.

Marisol drained the water glass first. She asked for another glass of water so she could savor her iced coffee with a hint of vanilla and rich real cream.

"Do you have plans for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"All I had planned was to go to the beach. Lay in the sun. Maybe sip a mixed drink or two. Read a book. Take a nap. Boring stuff," she said with a shrug.

"Sounds wonderful. Mind if join you?" he asked.

She almost choked on her iced coffee. Forcing it down, she smiled, hoping she was not grinning like an idiot.

"That would be great. Do you need to go back to your hotel or anything?" she asked.

"No. I'm good. These shorts are actually swimming trunks," he pointed out, sticking out his long leg to bring her attention to the knee length blue and white trunks he wore.

"Are you always so prepared?" she giggled.

"I decided I should be more prepared in the future after last night," he returned, the smile fading from his face. "I certainly wasn't prepared for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I wasn't expecting to meet someone so beautiful, so nice...who I would like to get to know."

"Oh...well, neither was I."

"You think I'm beautiful?" he teased her, giving her a silly grin.

"I do," she confessed, allowing the urge to touch him to overtake her.

Reaching across the table, Marisol indulged her desire to touch his inviting bronze skin. Warmed by the sun, his skin was soft as silk under her fingertips. Her fingers brushed across his sharp, high cheekbone then over the curve of his ear.

"Mmmm," he hummed, closing his eyes.

A million butterflies took flight in her belly. The yearning from last night came back, flooding the deepest parts of her insides with heat.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, pulling her hand back immediately. "That was out of line."

"No, it wasn't," he rejoined, catching her hand before she could withdraw from him completely. "Not after last night. I think that should have opened up a lot of boundaries."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed. "I just don't want you to think - "

"Think what?" he interrupted her, his eyes latching onto hers. "That you're a woman who's been alone, starved for touch, to feel something...anything... besides heartache and sadness for more than a year."

She lowered her eyes from his, picking up her glass. The emotions clogging her throat kept her from taking a drink. She wouldn't have been able to swallow anyway after the intense emotions his words stirred within her. He wasn't just talking about her.

"How long has it been for you?" she asked, gradually raising her eyes to his.

"Too long," he replied vaguely. "Some lines and boundaries will be crossed sooner than we expected. Losing Yue made me realize one thing, we never know how much time we have left. No one is promised tomorrow...or the next minute. We should make the most of it."

"I'm glad you feel that way." She took a long sip of the cold refreshing coffee.

"So let's get started. Let's go to your hotel room."

Marisol began giggling self-consciously when all heads in the area turned toward them. She doubted he meant that the way it sounded.

Besides, even is he was making an indecent proposal, these strangers couldn't understand. What they thought didn't matter anyway. They hadn't experienced the losses she and Sokka had. Who cares what they think?

Sokka took her by the arm and escorted her, proudly she noted, through the cafe not giving a second look at anyone who stared at them.

On the street, she threaded her arm through his, keeping her body close to his as they walked despite the hot sun bearing down on them.

"How long have you been a professional artist? You know with gallery exhibitions and all of that," she clarified.

"Only about a year. It's still a struggle to make ends meet but at least it finally pays the bills," he said. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Actually, I'm a grief counselor. I actually work with families at the hospital who have experienced a sudden loss," she explained.

"Doesn't that make things more difficult...dealing with your own grief?"

"Actually, no. Selfishly, helping others also helps me. I think maybe I used it as an excuse to ignore my own mourning when it became too much. I have to stop thinking about my own grief to help others through theirs."

"It doesn't surprise me that's your profession. You're a very sweet and open person. Caring, kind...loving," he added.

Marisol would swear he was giving her a full body blush. She had not been praised so profusely or sincerely since her husband. Maybe that was one of the reason she wanted to be near Sokka. His innocent genuineness expressed so openly reminded her of her husband.

"How long are you going to be in town?" he asked to change the subject as if he knew he was making her feel overwhelmed.

"Until the the end of the week? You?"

"The same. So we have five days. I suppose we should make the best of them."

"I suppose she," she echoed as the front entrance door to the hotel slid apart. "Let's begin by staying here. We can go to the pool. They have a bar and everything."

"I like that idea. I don't really relish the thought of finding sand in unmentionable places," he muttered, a grimace on his face.

"Like last night?" She had gotten sand in a few uncomfortable and unexpected places herself.

"Exactly."

After changing into her bikini in the bathroom because Sokka waited inside her room, they went down to the pool. The young man who delivered the message this morning, stopped by to talk to her as she was laying her towel out on a lounge chair.

He suggested they rent a cabana, basically a semi-private covered area of their own which would still enable them to enjoy the sun. Not to mention he would be their personal server to bring them drinks, snacks, towels, or anything else they wanted. The cost of everything would be added to her room bill.

Typically not one to splurge, she made an exception. Marisol took him up on his offer because she was on vacation - and had really fair skin. The thought of spending the rest of her vacation in pain and looking like a lobster did not appeal to her.

"Unlike you, I don't have that amazing sun kissed skin," she said to Sokka as they walked toward the glorified tent.

Marisol paused briefly, staring a the bed like lounger for two sitting in the middle under the thatched roof with curtains tied back to the poles supporting it. Shrugging, she unloaded her back, handing him the bottle of sunscreen.

"Do you mind?" she asked when he stared at the bottle.

"Rubbing lotion all over you? Ask a silly question," he scoffed. "Lay down."

That was one order Marisol would not mind complying with. Laying down on her belly, she tucked a pillow under her chin and chest as he squirted the lotion into his palm.

She bit her lower lip to hold back a moan when his hands squeezed her shoulders.

"God, you're so tense. How do you function?" he inquired. "Do you do yoga or meditate? Running?"

"I actually enjoy doing yoga. I just haven't...in a while. I get distracted too easily for meditation. I hate running."

"You did a pretty awesome job in those heels though," Sokka commented, making her chuckle self-consciously. "Do you do anything else to relax?"

Marisol debated if he was hinting at something sexual or simply making conversation. She assumed the latter.

"I'm doing it right now," she mumbled, concentrating on the sensation of his slightly calloused fingers running across her back as he massaged in the lotion.

"Massage?" he inquired.

"Occasionally. Oh, god," she moaned when his thumbs pressed into the base of her neck and slid down her spine. "Damn you're good with your hands."

He laughed at the compliment spoken in a most provocative manner.

"I knew you were an awe-inspiring artist but you are a sensational masseuse," she said, trying not to moan the words.

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever need a fall back," he rejoined, squirting more lotion on his hands.

"Hopefully you never will. Your art is exceptional. It evokes an emotional response beyond being pleasing to the eye."

Their conversation stopped as he moved down to the backs of her legs.

"You don't have to - "

"I want to," he cut her off, grasping her thigh and sliding his hands down to her calf.

"Far be it from me to argue," she murmured, burying her face in the pillow. She wanted to scream, this time in sheer joy, but didn't.

"I want to paint you," he blurted suddenly.

"What?" Marisol rolled over onto her side, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun with her hand to be able to see him.

"I want to paint a portrait of you. I want to capture the loveliness that is you for the world to see," he said, his fingers pressing to her temple then drifting along the contours of her face. "Your beauty goes beyond what's on the outside. You have this sweetness...this desire to love...that shines from the inside all the way to the outside."

"Sokka, I - " She tried to speak but a ball of emotion formed in her throat when his eyes met hers.

Their already fierce blue color seemed to radiate a light and warmth straight into her soul. Her pulse thrummed throughout her entire body, vibrating her bones. She felt electrified by those luminescent blue eyes. He made her feel alive in so many ways.

"Will you let me paint you?" Sokka asked, tilting her chin upward. His thumb traced below her lower lip.

"Would you two like a drink?" interrupted the ever so helpful hotel employee who wore many hats.

"Yes. We'll take two margaritas. Frozen," Marisol replied, not taking her eyes from Sokka's. She refused to allow the spell to be broken.

"What flavor?" he asked.

"Any flavor, Sport. You pick," she shot back, wanting him to leave quickly.

Sokka smiled. "Well?"

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow I have meetings with buyers. How about dinner tomorrow night? We can discuss it then?"

"Okay."

"Lay back down," he commanded her in a friendly tone with an even friendlier grin. "I still need to get your calves so you won't burn."

Too late. She was already on fire.