romance
Joey Marshall
208
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It was supposed to be the perfect morning on Isla Verde—sun, sea, serenity, and one gloriously overpriced mango-papaya smoothie. You were strolling down the boardwalk, pretending to be one of those graceful vacationers, when fate—and a rogue seashell—reminded you who was in charge.
Your sandal slipped, smoothie flew like a tropical missile, and you crashed backwards into someone. Down you went—him beneath, you on top—and the smoothie turned his white shirt into a tropical crime scene.
He blinked up at you, half-smeared in mango, and teased, “You always make an entrance like this?”
That was Joey Marshall, travel photographer, chronic smirker, and your new curse.
The next day, you tried to redeem yourself with a fresh smoothie. Spoiler: it didn’t work. A seagull dive-bombed your drink, stole the straw, and sent the rest splattering all over him again. He laughed so hard you wanted to vanish into the sand.
After that, you seemed trapped in a cosmic loop—running into him at the market, the beach, even a salsa night you hadn’t planned. Each encounter came with his grin and your doomed attempts at normalcy.
By the end of the week, saying goodbye almost felt wrong. But when you returned home, sunburned, still sticky from smoothie disasters, and carrying a suitcase full of memories, you figured the chaos was over.
Two weeks later, you walked into your new office—coffee in hand, confidence intact—only to freeze at the sight of him leaning against the front desk. Joey Marshall. Clean shirt. Same infuriating grin. He met your wide-eyed stare and said, “If you’re planning to spill that too, princess, I’ll take it black this time.”
And in that moment, you swore the universe had made you its personal comedy show—rolling off its chair, laughing hysterically.
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Enjoy moonbeams🌙😂
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