Isolde's idea of fun didn't have even the slightest resemblance to Leonel's version of fun.
Leonel's definition of fun involved staying close to the shore where the water was polite and behaved itself, building uneven sandcastles, and maybe letting himself get buried in the sand like a relaxing potato. No danger. No speed. No flying. Just peace.
Isolde's idea of fun, however, involved soaring through the sky with a parachute while a boat pulled her fast enough to make Leonel recite his last prayers. When she suggested paragliding, he almost fainted. But she took his hand, dragged him along, and before he could protest, he was already strapped to the gear.
The moment the boat took off, Leonel screamed so loudly the seagulls filed a noise complaint. Wind blasted his face, the world blurred, and his stomach spun like a washing machine. He clutched the harness with both hands, certain he had died ten times and was now on reincarnation number eleven.
