I pull up into gas station to fuel up my campervan for the last few miles of my journey. Well, today's journey anyway.

Ever since I left my safe, comfortable home in Miami, Florida, every day has been a journey, an adventure, a challenge.

But that doesn't mean I'd go back and change anything that has happened to me in the past few months. Sure, that time I got a flat tire in the middle of a desert in Texas and that other time when I ran out of gas in the middle of an interstate hadn't been greatbut I've pulled through and I'm still standing, and so's my van.

"That's 20 dollars." The lady at the till informs me once I've fuelled up my van.

I dig the money out of my purse and hand it to her.

"Anything else you want?" She asks.

"No, that's it. Thanks." I smile at her, "Bye now."

"Safe travels." She responds with a smile.

My smile falters as I step out into the sunshine; my mom said the exact same thing to me before I left.

Shaking my head, I stick my hat back on my head and climb into my van. There's nothing I can do about the past, only the present, and a little of the future.

I turn the key in the ignition, and Bessie, my campervan, starts up straight away, probably as eager as I am to get to our destination.

Windows down, the sun on my face, music blaring 'First Time' by Kygo and Ellie Goulding, and me singing at the top of my lungs, I feel complete.

"We were lovers for the first time
Running all the red lights
The middle finger was our peace sign, yeah
We were sipping on emotions
Smoking and inhaling every moment
It was reckless and we owned it, yeah, yeah

"We were high and we were sober
We were under, we were over
We were young and now I'm older
But I'd do it all again..."

Fact of life: you can always rely on music by Kygo to get you in a good mood.

Now, I have one hand on the wheel, the other hand is hanging out my window, soaking up the sun.

Less than an hour later, I arrive and park up in a parking lot right next to the beach—it's one of those parking lots that you're allowed to camp in. And, handily, it also has a set of public toilets and a drinking water tap.

Rapidly, I ditch my hat, change into my bikini and run down to the edge of the sea.

The sun's setting, the sky's turning golden, and I can't help but think that this would make a great picture.

But taking pictures and posing just ruins moments, so I push the thought out of my mind and walk into the ocean, waves lapping eagerly at my heels.

The surf's calm, almost non-existent. I guess I'll have to wait a couple of days before I'll be able to get out on my board—surfboard that is.

I take a deep breath and dive down into the waters, the salt water instantly refreshing me after my long drive.

This has been my destination for a long while, and now I'm finally here it feels like paradise.

The water's crystal clear and the sand is soft beneath my feet.

I float on my back, staring up at the sky that's now fading to dark blue in the centre, and spreads out to a lighter blue, and then to an amber colour at the sunset.

When the sun finally sinks below the horizon, and the water seems to get colder, I get out of the sea. I grab a light blue wrap-around out of my van and walk along the beach until I come across a cute beach hut café/coffee shop, called Oasis Moon—interesting name.

I push into the café, running my hands through my damp hair to make myself look a little more presentable. Not that there's really anyone around, except a couple of teens, and a barista washing down tabletops.

"Hello?" I call to him as I stand at the counter.

"Hi, there. I'll just be a second." The barista turns to me, and I just about melt to the floor into a little puddle, jaw dropped, mouth hanging open.

The stranger is probably the most attractive stranger I've ever laid eyes on. He's got tousled hair that's a mixture of lighter blonde and darker blonde, sea-green eyes, a strong jawline, and tanned skin. I think I've just found an actual Greek god...or demi-god, maybe, I'm not sure. But there's definitely something divine about him.

"You done staring yet?" He shocks me and smirks as my cheeks pinken.

"Are you?" I fire back a comeback that makes literally no sense whatever.

I inwardly cringe; get it together, girl!

He laughs a deep laugh that sets off butterflies in my stomach. "What can I get you?"

"Your number?" I try pointlessly.

"I meant coffee-wise." He grins, his eyes flicking quickly, almost imperceptibly, over my body, which is half-covered by my wrap-around.

"Black coffee, one sugar." I smile and continue smiling, even as his face registers disgust.

"How can you drink it like that?" He frowns, as he begins boiling the water.

I shrug, "I kind of have to; I'm lactose intolerant. And I doubt that you have almond milk in a place like this."

"Oh." He bends down and grabs something out of a fridge, "Almond milk like this?"

My mouth drops open for the second time in the space of five minutes. "Yup, just like that." I manage to splutter out.

"So, would you like almond milk in your coffee?" He teases, bright white teeth flashing at me.

"Yes, please." I smile as sweetly as I can accomplish.

He chuckles to himself and pours my coffee.

"You're not from round here, are you?" He asks, an eyebrow raising as he passes my mug to me.

"What makes you ask?" I raise an eyebrow right back at him. "Is it the accent?"

"Yep." He nods and leans over the counter as I slurp some coffee — I know what you're thinking: 'slurping' in front of a very attractive Greek god is un-ladylike, but does it look like I give a damn? (The answer's no, in case you were wondering.)

"Ah, shoot." I roll my eyes sarcastically, "I was trying so hard."

"What brings you to California, then?" He inquired.

"The surf, mostly." I answer honestly.

"You go surfing?" He looks surprised.

"Why do you look surprised?" I snap, "Why wouldn't I surf?"

"No offence, but you kinda just look like one of those posers that puts every little thing they do on social media." He admits.

Oh no, he didn't. But oh yes, he did. He just had to go there.

I brush it off, "Well, I surf. So there."

I place some money on the counter to pay for my (sadly) unfinished coffee and turn to leave.

"Where are you going?" He calls after me.

"To post some crap on the 'Gram." I hurl back at him, whipping around to give him a bitter glare, "Right? 'Cos that's all I do, right?"

Okay, maybe I went a little far, but I don't like being stereotyped.

"Hey, come on." He calls after me, but I just keep on going and leave the shop.

I think I'm far enough away from the café when I sit down on the sand, but clearly not, because the barista runs after me.

I glare at the sky, and think whyyy?

"I didn't mean it like that." He sits down next to me and looks out towards the sea, "I guess I kind of talk crap when I see a pretty girl."

My heart stings a little; I'm not just a pretty girl.

"Whatever." I pull my wrap-around tighter around my body.

"What's your name?" He tries.

"Skye." I tell him, even though I really don't want to. "Skye Jameson."

"I'm Reiley." He tells me, even though I didn't ask. "Well, my—"

I cut him off, rudely, "Sorry for being rude, but I really have to go now."

"Oh..." He trails off, "You came here with family? Friends? Boyfriend?"

"Something like that." I reply non-committedly; after all, I've got Bessie.

"Let me walk you to where you're staying." He insists, standing as I get up from the sand, brushing the sand off my butt.

"I'm staying in a campervan, and it's not that far from here." I tell him.

Reiley's face screws up in dislike, "You live in a van. So, you're one of those bloggers, those social media influencers, those... 'vanlife' girls, huh? Here to destroy the peace of one of the only spots of wilderness left in our world?"

"No, not at all. You're really bad at guessing my life story." I narrow my eyes at him as we walk along the beach.

"Okay, I've got it this time." He assures, "You're a fugitive and you're living in a van until you can bank all that money you stole from an old lady, and then you're going to cross the border into Mexico so the feds can't find you. You can't actually surf, but you've got to have a cover story for being in California, other than to cross the border."

"Nope. Not even close." I laugh aloud, tilting my head up to the night sky.

"Right..." He frowns, "Your parents wanted to send you to a military reformation school in South America because you murdered your next-door neighbour."

"You have one dark, twisted mind. You know that, right, dude?" I smirk. "You've got one last shot. Guess again."

"You have a psychopathic ex-boyfriend—or ex-girlfriend, I'm not here to judge; I'm aware we're living in the 21st century—and they're chasing you across the country, so you're here to flee into Mexico."

"What is it with you and Mexico?" I wondered aloud, "But, no—wrong, wrong, wrong!"

"Go on then, Skye Jameson, what's your life story?" He questions.

For some reason, no part of me even stops to think not to tell him.

"I'm from Miami, Florida." I tell him, glancing across at his gorgeous face, "I had everything...a great family life, loving friends, tons of followers on Instagram, a bright future—acceptance into an Ivy League Uni, which I'd worked for all my life, and a contract at a modelling agency."

"Sounds perfect." He scoffs, "Why did you leave it all behind?"

"Because," I explain, "I realised that everything that I was doing with my life was just what other people wanted me to do. So, I bought Bessie, my campervan, fixed her up a little, stuck my surfboard on the roof and left."

"Wasn't that hard?" He asks.

"You've no idea." I fold my arms self-consciously across my body.

"I think I have, actually." He corrects.

I shrug my shoulders, and change conversation topics quickly, "Shouldn't you get back to work?"

"I should, actually." He hangs his head, "I've got an all-night shift."

"I can walk from here." I reassure him, "See you around."

"Sure." He nods, and I walk away from him, not far from my van now.

My wrap-around is not nearly enough warm enough to keep the cold of the night out. I'm looking forward to getting my generator hooked up to my van, and get the heating going.

I also need to make a quick bit of dinner; I'll probably have some couscous—super quick and super easy...not to mention super healthy.

"Wait up, Skye!" Reiley calls after me, shaking me out my thoughts about food.

"What now?" I mutter, but turn to face him, even though I'm right outside of my van now.

"Can I get your number?" He asks, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"That assumes I have a phone." I say pointedly, "And you shouldn't assume – because that makes an ass out of you and me."

"Ha, ha." He laughs sarcastically, "How can I contact you then?"

"Why would you want to?" I raise an eyebrow, hand hovering on the handle of my van door.

"I mean...just in case you want to hook up a-and go surfing, or something?" He stumbles, eyes wide.

"Sure." I nod, "But I don't really tend to stay around one place for that long."

"Okay." He presses his lips together, "Well, goodnight, Skye Jameson."

"Goodnight." I smile as I step into my campervan.

"See you tomorrow?" He asks, hopefully, expectantly.

"Maybe." I respond, shyly tucking a lock of blonde hair behind my ear.

"You'll come to the café again?" He pressed.

"Maybe," I say again, "But, I'm really tired now—it's been a long day. So, I'm gonna go to bed."

"Okay." He steps back a bit, grinning handsomely, "I guess I can find you somewhere on Instagram?"

"Guess again." I smile and shut the door – not planning on opening it for a couple of handfuls of hours.

Exhausted, I collapse back onto my bed, not even bothering to wash or get out of my bikini.

Oh Skye, of course you had to find a sexy surfer dude on your first night in California...