Golden Hour

A short story by Hannah Doyle

- Hannah Doyle

Bursts of orange and purple flare across the sky as the sun dips down beyond the ocean.

The sound of chillout music and ice rattling in cocktail shakers fills the air, while drinks are ferried from the bar to stylish holiday makers watching another glorious Ibiza sunset out on the terrace.

It’s the idyllic early summer setting and I barely notice any of it. As usual, I’m glued to my work laptop. With my client Verity enjoying a renaissance, there’s not a moment to lose.

A huge popstar in the noughties, Verity has been “rediscovered” by Gen Z and invited to Ibiza to kickstart the season with a gig tomorrow night.

As her talent manager and best friend, it's my job to organise her, which is easier said than done given that she’s also something of a liability.

I'm triple checking tomorrow's busy schedule when a deep voice addresses me.

“You're missing golden hour.’

My gaze flicks up to meet the handsome stranger hovering by my spot at the bar. Dark hair, hint of stubble, eyes the colour of perfectly cut diamonds.

‘Most people come here for the sunsets,” he adds with an intoxicating smile.

“You mean they don’t come for the timetables and spreadsheets?’ I quip, motioning towards the open laptop beside me.

His laugh catches me off-guard, as does the sudden and magnetic pull of attraction I feel. As a newly divorced woman in her mid-forties, let’s just say it’s been a while.

But when my thumb inadvertently rubs the space where my wedding ring used to sit, I'm reminded where feelings like this got me last time. Although I’m relieved that a bad marriage is over, I’m still exhausted from the fallout. Hence why I'm now throwing myself wholeheartedly into work, and nothing else.

‘May I buy you a drink?’ he asks, leaving me flummoxed. I can’t remember the last time I had a drink with an attractive man.

‘Pippa? Pippa!’ Verity shouts over from a spot on the terrace.