The sweet smell of coconut tanning oil and sight of brown legs sprawled sticky over the white sheets made them relish the mountainpeak of summer. The girls lay in a lazy heap, snoring softly, curtained by the white nets that hugged the windows and warded off the bees. Sunlight cut into the room like a zigzag bringing good news of the great outdoors- slivers of velvet palm trees peeked through the cracks and basked in the tropical sun.
It was an Indian summer like no other, with days spent crashing into turquoise and emerald waves, sweat fogging up the bare skin of their backs, and striped bikinis blurring in the motion of their cartwheels on the beach.
They spent their nights locked up in their bedroom, three bronze girls crowding into one bed, holding hands beneath the blankets, telling stories in the dark. Their freckles mapped islands scattered across the pacific ocean and their hair hung loosely, smelling of seafoam and salt. They were full of life, dancing to their father's records in the living room, and singing at the top of their lungs. They howled into the night to create a symphony of distraught dogs, breaking the peaceful reign of crickets and distant waves.
They had their singing, they had their howls, but it was their laughter that filled every crevice in the room and shook the souls of lonely men.