Chapter 1 Under the Salt and the Blue

Before anyone approached the table-perhaps one of the waiters, a boisterous family who had just arrived, or even Leo or Luis, the owners of the place-Marina stepped forward.

"Do you have a phone number?" she asked, as if asking a trivial question. In case... I don't know, I need some information or information. About security or... whatever.

He smiled and dictated his number to her while she wrote it down with her still-damp fingers.

"Now you have a direct line to the law," he joked.

"And to temptation," she thought, without saying it.

The salt still stung her skin. The wind from the beach, which crept through the folds of her damp dress, had left her black hair tousled, plastered to her face, and with that sea scent she loved so much. Marina was in her usual restaurant-her friends Leo and Luis's-with her towel over her shoulder, sandals in her hand, and that delicious feeling of freedom that only comes when you get out of the water.

Her gaze wandered momentarily to some distant boat, but soon returned to the man's hands. Restless, she lowered her gaze and half-closed her eyelids; she felt his gaze on her. In an act of bravery, she sought his eyes, only to confirm what her skin was already screaming at her.

The place lent itself to losing herself in the landscape. It was a churuata, but not just any old one. It had a roof made of thick wooden logs supporting a solid structure, covered with rustic terracotta tiles that stood out in the sunlight. It had no walls, only the generous shade offered by the roof, and a terracotta ceramic floor that retained the warmth of the day. It was right on the seashore, allowing the sound of the waves, the smell of saltpeter, and the sea breeze to be an essential part of the experience.

Marina chose one of the tables closest to the edge, where she could see the movement of the waves and feel the warm wind caressing her skin. She sat alone, as she had so often. This place was almost an extension of her home, a refuge from routine where she always knew what to expect: a tasty meal, a chat with her friends when they could sit down for a while, and her moment of peace in front of the sea. From any point in the restaurant, she could see the ocean stretching out like an endless promise. Boats of various kinds and a few docks completed the landscape. Everything was open, natural, wrapped in golden light. Only this time, the landscape she enjoyed so much had a foreground that captured her full attention: a man, a policeman.

That afternoon, the routine was broken.

Just a few minutes after sitting down, while salt water was still dripping on the plastic chair, a shadow was projected across the table. She looked up... and there he was.

A tall man-extremely tall, she thought-in an immaculate blue uniform and a presence that made the entire restaurant fade for a moment around him. She estimated him to be about two meters tall, maybe a little more. The uniform fit his body perfectly: it showed off broad shoulders, thick, hairy arms, and a bearing that seemed straight out of a movie. But it wasn't fiction. He was there, in front of her.

"Is this seat taken?""He asked in a deep, clear voice, with a respectful tone that immediately disarmed her. "I just want a quick drink, if you don't mind."

Marina hesitated for half a second, not out of discomfort, but out of surprise. In so many years of visiting that restaurant, never had a stranger-much less one like him-asked her to sit at her table. It was a new scene. Unexpected. And profoundly pleasant. Especially when the other tables were empty.

"No, of course not," she replied with a shy smile and a curious knot in her stomach. "Come in."

He sat down carefully, like someone who knows he's taking up space and doesn't want to invade. His movements were calm, controlled, but still firm. Up close, Marina could notice even more details. He had light skin, golden brown from the sun, with thick brown hair that covered his arms and peeked out from under his shirt collar. He had a strong, solid body. He must have weighed at least 120 pounds. A hundred kilos of pure presence.

And then she saw his face.

His eyes. Green. Incredibly green, as if they contained a story yet untold. He had thick, manly eyebrows that framed his gaze with intensity. A firm, masculine neck, and full lips that completed that expression somewhere between serious and serene, which caused a small internal fire.

She, soaked, her wet dress clinging to her body, her hair still dripping, felt for a moment that she couldn't look worse. But he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful image of the afternoon.

And what captivated her most, what made her swallow unwillingly, was that delicious blend of elegance and chivalry, reinforced by the blue of the uniform. A uniform that might have been intimidating on any other, but on him made it look so attractive, so provocative. As if the seriousness of duty had been dressed in desire.

"Do you come here often?" "I've never seen you," he asked, his voice deep yet gentle.

"I used to come here often," she replied, letting her smile speak louder than her voice. "But it's been about seven months since I've been here."

He raised his eyebrows, curious.

"What a coincidence," he said thoughtfully. "I've been at the police headquarters on the beach, right here, for exactly seven months. I was transferred to this area, and since then I've been working just a few meters from this place."

The two of them were silent for a moment. There was no need to say it out loud: something had kept them apart, as if the universe had been waiting for this exact moment to bring them together.

They talked for a long time. Longer than she had planned. He told her about his job, his passion for the sea, how much he enjoyed working near the coast, even though the uniform was sometimes heavy. She told him about her work as a writer, her love of tranquility, of art, of the small details.

The conversation flowed easily, as if they had known each other before. Their gazes intertwined, less and less discreetly. The tension was sweet, but clear.

Marina enjoyed the moment, afraid that something would interrupt it. Although, indeed, she was being watched. Antonio-who had always been interested in her-came over and sat across from her. Fortunately, not for long.

Antonio was a hard-working, attentive, affectionate... and jealous man. Javier's presence at the same table as the woman he silently loved didn't sit well with him. Marina noticed it immediately.

Javier stood up and, with a kind expression, asked if he could invite her to breakfast. Her nerves left her speechless for a second. She thought quickly: If I accept, Antonio will be upset.

Then she said no.