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[sub]Interactions with [@Sadie] and [@PrinceAlexus][/sub][/center]
Eloy squinted ever so slightly, moving his head from left to right to be able to see the results of his detailed yet rigorous work. The man's fingers were curled around a sanding block, working on the wood trim of the windowsill at the back of the Whispering Waves, the sound of the waves mixing with the grit on wood. Truthfully, the windows were long overdue for their paint job, and the difference between those he had finished and those he hadn't was striking. But he wouldn't be done today. In the orange of the evening falling over the Azul islands he wouldn't be able to properly see the strokes of his brush, which would result in an awful job done on the bed and breakfast's lovely windows. 

And a beating from Izabel. 

At the very least, he could finish up the sanding to make his job easier when he came back to finish up. It was evening, and in August, Azul was still more than warm after sundown, allowing the man to stand in his work boots under grey cargo shorts. His shirt was off and draped over the back of a lounge chair beside him on the deck. Beside it, his toolbox stood open. Below the porch, with their chairs lodged and half sunk into the beach, two guests of the bed and breakfast were a couple of self-made cocktails in, two bottles stuck haphazardly into the sand as the girls giggled and talked, loudly at that. Every so often, they'd make comments about Eloy being a rigorous worker, working himself into a sweat and how much they'd love to cool him off with their cocktails or a skinny dip into the ocean. He had politely declined. Even so, he couldn't help but grin a little to himself as the girls thought that they were being silent when talking about him amongst the two of them. 

A little bell at his feet caught the handyman's attention, and he glanced down at the black fluffy cat circling around his legs, making the shape of an eight as if the trick would get her a reward. He had learned to always watch where he walked while he was working at the home because the cat had an uncanny ability to be in the way, always asking to be scratched atop her head. The lack thereof today had the feline confused, as Eloy didn't touch her with his paint-stained and dusty hands. [color=sandybrown]"You just wait, Saph. When I wash my hands you'll get the best scratches ever, I promise."[/color] She let out a loud meow as if she was holding him to the promise. A forceful bunt against his legs returned a promise of violence if he didn't comply. 

When he felt content about his sanding work, he transferred the block to his other hand before stretching out his fingers that were half-locked into a grabbing position. He made a fist before flexing the digits, his mind carrying off with the wind. These were busy days for Eloy, and the man couldn't deny he was stretching himself just a little bit thin. July and August and a bit of September were always prime time months for his surfing school, with many tourists signing up for a class or a longer course. Some were serious, some were just there for the novelty, the experience or the social media picture. Not that Eloy minded, and he frequently posed for a picture or two if that was what would get him more customers. It was needed income, and he adored spreading his love for the waves, even though some people had the motoric skills of a walnut. The money would boost his businesses and sustain him for the rest of the year, when he had a bit fewer tourists to teach and instead had a fixed group of mostly local kids, from little ones to teens. 

Some of them were shaping up to be incredibly talented, making Eloy feel an odd sense of pride whenever he helped them sign up for competitions, navigate offers from sponsors or to join more prominent teams than his own. Most of his students stayed loyal to the Wave Makers, though. The season brought many competitions Eloy coached his students at, and many classes to teach while still being in demand for his repairman services. As the tourists were still traversing the boardwalks, the locals prepared themselves for the Azul Native Days, which made a lot of business owners suddenly aware of issues they needed fixing within their establishments, stores and tour boats. 

All in all, August was usually a chaotic non-stop whirlwind, and he'd love to be sleeping all through September to catch up. Fixing up the Whispering Waves, however, was a task in itself that spanned over a longer time, and he didn't mind. The house itself had good memories for him, too. Stepping over the cat and to his toolbox, Eloy ensured that all his tools were back in their place before he latched it shut. 

Above, the familiar sound of a small plane filled the sky, and Eloy glanced upward. Ah, Chris was returning. He too, was busy. Grabbing his used paintbrushes, Eloy held them in his fist as he walked to the backdoor. He'd wash his brushes, scratch the cat, say bye to Izabel and head out. As he stomped his feet on the mat outside the door, he heard a voice inside, unfamiliar and with an accent he couldn't place. Definitely not a native Spanish speaker, though, not only clear from the apology.

He was in the door before he thought better of it, hopeful he wouldn't get swatted by Izabel and her handtowel of doom for walking around shirtless among her guests, he just hadn't expected someone to be in the main area of the house. Making his way further, he noticed a woman gingerly sitting down, seemingly favouring one foot. She was wearing a summery dress, and Eloy immediately recognised where it came from. A local woman who made dresses like no other. This woman had shopped locally, and Eloy could appreciate that. As he walked up behind her, paintbrushes in hand, he spoke up. [color=sandybrown]"Buenas noches, Señorita, your Spanish is fine."[/color]

The cat slid between his legs as she trudged up to the woman, likely looking for cuddles, the little bell around her neck tinkling softly. [color=sandybrown]"The cat's harmless. Let me get the owner for you."[/color] As he passed her, he flashed the woman a friendly smile as he studied her face for a brief moment. Glasses on her nose, light eyes peering through them, and pale skin. Shortly, Eloy hoped that the woman would use a lot of sunscreen because skin like hers would turn her into a lobster at the soonest opportunity. She did seem slightly overheated, too, but hospitality was not his thing, so instead he passed the counter and walked into the little hallway that led to the small office Izabel usually worked at. 

The man leaned his forearm on the doorpost, paintbrushes still clutched as he briefly watched his best friend concentrate on whatever she was doing, not noticing him at all. Like himself, he found her to be hardworking, not taking what she had now for granted. She had worked tirelessly for him as an instructor, being especially good with the little ones. Sometimes, he missed having her on his team, but he acknowledged her desire for more. To be in charge of something for herself. Eloy would always support his best friend in that. Now, he works for her sometimes, which was a welcome twist. For a brief moment, he looked fondly upon her, her face etched in concentration before clearing his throat and raising an amused brow. [color=sandybrown]"Bells, there's a customer up front, tourist I believe."[/color]

The surfer pushed himself off the post and rolled his shoulder, a little sour from the sanding movements. Holding up the brushes, he waved them with a big grin. [color=sandybrown]"Gonna wash my brushes. Not done yet with all of the windows, though, but getting there."[/color] He winked before turning.

After informing Izabel of his progress, he walked back toward the main room where the woman waited. At the counter, he dumped his brushes into the deep, large sink before turning on the water. He carefully started washing out the paint, as he knew better than to splatter water and paint around Izabel's neat establishment. He looked at the tourist with a curious brow raised, a kind expression on his face. [color=sandybrown]"Did you hurt yourself?"[/color] The man jutted his chin into the direction of the foot he saw her favouring.