// A few minutes later - Near Sydney Harbor Bridge, Sydney, Australia //
I chortled as Anthony walked me to grab a taxi to the guest house. He was fascinated by the story I shared back in the cafe, that my friends and I once attended an annual festival in Spain called La Tomatina where people throw tomatoes at each other.
This subject matter commenced when I told him about the perfectly cut slices of tomatoes in my Santorini wrap, and that tomatoes were my father’s first business venture, along with spices.
“Must be messy!” Anthony laughed commenting on La Tomatina. “How does it feel when it hits you in the head?" he added playfully, anticipating for my next reaction.
“Um, there’s a rule that tomatoes must be squashed first before throwing them to avoid hurting others,” I shrugged as I explained.
“That’s a relief!” Then Anthony looked as though he’d throw some tomatoes at me if he had something in his hands. His presence so breezy it was easy to get along. Some crazy turn of events.
“Here’s a weird thing about me,” he led off, “when I was a kid, I’d eat tomatoes with salt and sometimes, with sugar.”
“No way!” I looked at him, astounded. “The salt, I get it. But sugar?” I protested lightheartedly and challenged him. “I mean, tomato is already juicy. I can’t imagine the mess with sugar.” I threw hand gestures as I spoke, couldn’t believe we were talking about tomatoes when we we’re about to say farewell soon.
In no time, we reached the waiting area for cabs. By the looks of Anthony, I knew he wanted some more moments with me. A hopeless romantic, he seemed.
“Isn’t it something?” he said suddenly, pointing to the moon over the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Before I could turn to look at it, I felt his hand carelessly rested over my shoulder, and his body an inch away from me now.
Then the night harbor breeze suddenly danced with my hair. The moon nor the wind didn’t matter to me first. It was his hand on my shoulder that caught my overall attention.
I glared at his hand that made its way downward to my arm, holding me closer, then shifted my look to the side of his face. His tall nose and prominent facial bones unmistakably added lulu to the view.
We continued eyeing the cinematic view, the moon almost at full, then Anthony spoke again. This time, solemn.
“The moon,” he said, “no matter how far it is from us, sometimes it feels like it’s just an inch away, waiting to be taken hold of.”
Anthony delivered those words potently, and I didn’t even notice I stared at him for too long. I just listened to him, frozen, and was haunted by the thought of kissing him.
“And the marvel of it all…” he continued, “the longer you look at it, the deeper you experience tranquility. You could dream the greatest dream, and it will come true.”
Anthony shifted his gaze to me as though I was that dream came true and passed on a bold look.
He was about to plant a kiss when… a drunkard man fell from the harbor-side!
***
// The next morning - Somewhere in Sydney, Australia //
I opened one eye and discovered a perfect sight to wake up to.
Anthony…
He’d been watching me from the side of his bed. Calm. Relaxed. I could tell he’d been there for a while now.

For a moment or two, we’ve locked eyes, smiling, his hands moving away the hair strands that hid my face. I didn’t realize his eyes were more interesting than I thought. Yesterday, they were ocean-strong, now a pair of sultry green.
And then that dawning thought, of me spending the night with him. I tried to remember the events of last night, and how I ended up in his place.
Quickly, Anthony reassured he slept on his couch and that nothing had happened last night aside from the fact that we got wet from saving some old man who fell from the harbor-side.
A relief. I was happy he didn’t take advantage of me in my vulnerable moments. My experience with men had not been the same. Face afire, I asked cautiously where we were.
“We’re in my apartment, here in Sydney.” Anthony drew closer as he spoke, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight beaming through the curtains. “It was too late for you to go to the guesthouse so I invited you to my flat,” he detailed and slid an enigmatic smile.
A smile came from me for a moment, and tried to process where this would lead us.
“You’re wearing my shirt, by the way.” Anthony was proud in telling. “You look good in it.”
I slid a gaze and it was a v-neck white shirt, with a smell of his cologne fighting against of what seemed to be a blend of a man’s sweat and testosterone. And down further, I realized I was only wearing an underwear.
Silently, I was terrified. Then crazy things began to consume me. Were my legs even shaved? Apparently I’ve failed to keep my oomph lately.

“Your pants is still in the dryer.” Anthony had read my thoughts and began to stand up. He lent a hand and invited me to the kitchen. “I made you breakfast. Would you mind leaving the bed now?” He was playful in inviting, trying to make a mess out of me.
I wanted to but alas, half of my body was exposed. I wanted to tell him to go ahead as I search for my pants but he already volunteered.
“Hang in there, okay? I’ll get them for you.”

And there in the kitchen, in the corner of what seemed to be a 20-square-meter flat, I couldn’t help but gush over the efforts he put in his cooking.
Unmistakably, I noticed Anthony wasn’t the typical breakfast kind of guy. His kitchen cabinet displayed no cereal nor food cans and his small fridge was devoid of milk, except for those greens and tomatoes and a couple bottle of beers.
Anthony made an omelet, just like what Ethan used to prepare in our kitchen. But this one, I could tell, was way antithetic. Chivalrously, it was topped with fine herbs and spices, recently transferred from an skillet of unsalted butter. And at the side of the table came the invigorating floral scent of fresh carnation flowers. I knew then I was standing in front of a finer man.
He asked me to sit down and made me choose between coffee and orange juice.
“Juice,” I smiled politely, and he began a pour, his hand too careful not to cause any spillage.
Anthony shared the carnation flowers are his mother’s favorite and that according to her, light red carnation symbolizes admiration while the dark red one represents deep love and affection.
Ogling at the flowers, I couldn’t figure out what shade they were. It didn’t matter. Those fresh flowers, alone, were already successful in sending what seemed to be a gesture of romance.
We began a bite and Anthony shared that as a kid, he would often see his mom spray-water carnation flowers in their rock garden. In Melbourne. Especially in the morning.
Enjoying the sights of him as he spoke, I waited till he mentioned where his mother was.
“Mom’s a retired school teacher…” At last he shared, the one thing I’ve been musing to know. “She spends much of her time digging in the earth and growing her floral shop in Melbourne.”
Anthony made it sound like his mom is an extraordinary woman. I stopped myself the moment I realized I wanted to meet her someday. It’s premature to be thinking of such things so I praised the omelet instead. Aside from its careful folding, it was light and fluffy, filled with the classic combo of cheese and bacon.
Then… the ticking of the wall clock. Anthony must have work today. It was past six already, and I was scared to death to be the cause of his tardiness.
“What's wrong?” Anthony wondered that I panicked a little.
“Don't you have work to do?"
At once, Anthony giggled that gave me a confused face.
“Hey you! It’s my day off.” He flung another laughter.
I changed the subject matter by asking about the drunkard man and why the hell we ended up wet last night.
“He was drinking and singing his heart out. You know, the kind of thing men do when we get our hearts broken.” Anthony was shrugging shoulders, sounding proud, and looked down to his plate to take his last spoonful of the omelet.
“And we saved him...?” I wished not to get destructed as I spoke because Anthony’s stronger masticating suddenly showcased a firm set of jaw and seductive shaved beard. I realized Anthony was looking more and more manly, especially the part when he drank a full glass of water, and his Adam’s apple surfaced prominently. I tried not to gulp.
“It was an accident,” Anthony then proceeded, and I was so lost in thought that I failed to process his response to my earlier question.
“I’m sorry, what was the accident?” I shook my head and stopped myself from probing him.
“The man, he accidentally fell.” Anthony repeated and probed me too, wondering at why I lost track all of a sudden.
I acted attentive right after, forcing myself not to get destructed by his manliness and focus on what he was saying.
“Are you okay? Are you sick or something?” He asked carefully, examining me, and touched my forehead gently to know if I was having a fever. If I was brave enough I would tell him he was causing it. Instead I swayed my head saying, “I’m fine,” and complimented it with a cover-up smile.
“Good.” He smiled, too, then scratched on his jaw, something I noticed he likes doing. It's his mannerism, I guess, but he just looked undeniably perfect.
Watching Anthony closer, I couldn’t help but compare him to Ethan. I tried not to but it was just difficult to resist the idea. They were entirely different. And I wonder now if Anthony even likes me.
Quickly a part of me got scared. It might lead to another heartbreak, especially with the thought that I was just here for a vacation, and that I would be leaving soon. I know better now to save myself from another heartache.