You Can’t Hurry Love (Dream Destinations #1)

Chapter One

Four months, three days and, ooh, two hours since I booked this holiday, and now I’m here. I stand on the balcony of our boutique hotel and admire the view. The sparkling, shimmering waters of the Pacific look so inviting, I could strip off and jump in them right this second.

By the time we arrived in Costa Rica last night it was so late we crashed out on the bed fully clothed. Costa Rica. Even the sound of it on my lips makes me happy, and being Scottish, I can trill my Rs like the Spanish, so the sound is even more melodious, richer.

I put on my playlist of Costa Rican calypso music and smile at Aidan as he turns over in bed. One of his black curls falls over his face. It’s so endearing, but I resist the urge to push it out of his eyes. He hates when I do that, says I’m not his mum.

A yacht rounds the point and approaches our bay. For the fifteen minutes or so that I’ve been studying the ocean, Aidan has been snoring gently. One whisky too many on the plane.

I really hope he comes on some of the trips I’ve planned. He has already said he isn’t spending his whole holiday schlepping around tourist attractions; he just wants to rest. And each to their own, but I do hope he won’t pass up the chance to see the sloths and the rainforests, otherwise what was the point of coming all this way?

My main purpose for visiting Costa Rica is to see the sloths– they’re my favourite animal– and I’ve researched the Costa Punta sloth sanctuary to the nth degree, after hearing horror stories of other sanctuaries that don’t rehabilitate the sloths and are only there to bring in the tourists. Much as I can’t wait to see sloths in the flesh, I want to ensure they’re well looked-after and that the sanctuary I visit has their best interests at heart.

Yet I also want to kick back on the powder-white sand of Costa Rica’s beaches, as well as venturing a little off the beaten track to see the national parks.

The sea-foam green of the ocean finally entices me to leave Aidan to his lie-in. I walk through the grounds, which are surrounded by lush greenery and palm trees, and pause as I first hear then spot two parakeets. They’re almost completely lime green apart from a red section above their beak. Their twittering reminds me of Snow White, her feathered friends perched on her outstretched arms, and I chuckle as I stroll past the S-shaped swimming pool which leads all the way to the beach.

As I’m leaving the gardens behind, about to walk onto the beach for the first time, a uniformed hotel worker passes me and nods. ‘ Pura vida .’

I try not to frown, but as far as I know, in Spanish that means ‘pure life’. I mentally bookmark to check later.

‘ Buenos dias ,’ I say, hoping good morning works well as a response to whatever he said. He tips his hat at me and I smile and wander onto the beach.

I’m interested to see how different the Spanish used in Costa Rica is to Castilian Spanish, which I learned at school. In an effort to fully immerse myself in the culture, I dug out my old Spanish books, a few weeks before we flew here. Hopefully, I’ll have the courage to brush up on my Spanish during my trip.

I glance at my watch. It’s early: seven o’clock. That makes it two in the afternoon at home. If I were in Glasgow, I’d be rushing from one appointment to the other, trying to avoid losing my mind in city centre traffic, or if I were lucky, having a wee jaunt down to the Borders to visit our clients there. Apart from the speed cameras, that’s a nice leisurely drive, and there’s always a good tearoom to drop into. Listen to me, I sound about fifty. I’m turning thirty, I’m not collecting my bus pass just yet.

Off to my right, three divers don their suits, then pull on their tanks, adjusting their regulators and breathing apparatus. I’ve never dived before and would love to. The marine life here in Costa Rica must be incredible, and I envy the divers as they disappear below the water. I’ve packed a snorkel. Let’s see how I go with that first.

Bloody hell. The water is colder than it looks. OK, it is first thing in the morning and the sun isn’t very high in the sky yet, but I still didn’t expect it to feel like going for a paddle at Blackpool. Brrr. No wonder the beach is deserted, and now I think about it, those divers were wearing suits. I’d half expected them to be going in with only a pair of swimming shorts and a tank of air on their back.

The tranquillity is absolute now the divers have gone. Not a soul on the beach, which I find both comforting and humbling. Whenever I take time to really look at the sea, or ocean, I always have this sense of being insignificant. Something to do with being faced with the power of nature.

I sink down onto the sand and run my hands through it, loving the texture and the slight warmth to it. It’s so perfect, I almost don’t want to sully it by sitting on it.

A gentle breeze picks up and it caresses my face as I close my eyes and lie back. This is bliss, and so far removed from my normal life that it’s hard to believe I’m actually here.

Another member of staff approaches, identically dressed to the previous one.

‘ Pura vida ,’ he says in a sing-song voice, smiling and inclining his head.

I stick with the habitual ‘ Buenos dias ’.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me it has been a long time since dinner on the plane last night. A glance at my watch shows me I’ve been faffing about on the beach for half an hour. Half seven is a reasonable time to get someone up for breakfast when you’re in a new country, isn’t it?

‘Aidan, wake up.’ I shake him gently, then a little harder. ‘C’mon, it’s time for breakfast.’

If that doesn’t move him, nothing will. Aidan likes his food. I do, too, and I love to try new things. And where better to do so than in an idyllic part of the world like this with all its new flavours and taste sensations?

‘What time is it?’ Aidan’s bleary-eyed face emerges from beneath the pillow he’d put over his head to block out the light.

‘It’s quarter to eight. Get up. We have so much to do.’ I can’t contain my excitement, and although I’m probably being a little naughty waking Aidan early, surely he must feel some sense of adventure about being here.

‘All right, keep your hair on.’ He sticks his tongue out over and over as if he’s trying to get rid of a bad taste. Or perhaps he has a furry tongue from all the alcohol he consumed last night. I mean, I’m no party pooper, I had a glass of wine with dinner, too. I just didn’t take it to the extremes he did.

He grabs me round the middle. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘Get off!’ I smack him lightly on the shoulder and wriggle free of his grasp. ‘Later. Now, get up, I’m hungry.’

‘Fine, but let me check in with the office first.’

I stifle a groan. We’re supposed to be on holiday. Sure, Aidan’s heading up a huge project at the moment, worth millions of pounds, but no one can cover him when he’s on leave?

Half an hour later we’re in an open-air dining room, on a white wooden raised deck, gazing out at the ocean, where a couple of boats now bob in the water under a cloudless sky. The dining room looks as if it’s set up for a destination wedding with its white wooden columns, white high-backed chairs with floor-length covers and silk bows. The immaculate tablecloth almost puts me off eating, I’m so scared I’ll dirty it.

‘Good morning, sir. Madam.’ The waiter bows. ‘Would you like coffee, tea or agua dulce ?’

I chance my luck. I need coffee, but I read about agua dulce in my guide book and fancy trying it, too.

‘Could I have coffee and agua dulce ?’ I ask.

‘Of course.’ The waiter beams at me then turns to Aidan.

‘Coffee.’ Aidan doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone.

The waiter tells us we can help ourselves to anything from the breakfast buffet and says he’ll be back in a few minutes. With difficulty, I fight off the rising stab of irritation at Aidan’s rudeness. I know he’s under a lot of pressure at work and they’re short-staffed, but would it kill him to be polite?

Whilst he scrolls through his phone, I gaze out at the ocean again. Looks like the divers are coming back in.

‘Here you go, madam, and sir.’ The endlessly patient waiter is the consummate professional as Aidan continues to ignore him. I school myself not to tut, even though my own patience is now paper-thin. Once again, I rail against the bad luck of my best friend, Becca, breaking her leg two weeks prior to our trip. Despite being grateful to Aidan for stepping into the breach and taking her place, I know without a second thought that I’d be enjoying myself a lot more if she were here. In fact, she would have made me stay up and party last night.

Becca lived next door to my grandfather when I was growing up and I used to go round there after school as my parents were working. We’ve been besties ever since. She’s made no bones about not liking Aidan, and she’s horrified at the prospect of us moving in together when we return, but it seemed the next logical step. We have been together for three years, after all. And despite his flaws, he has been there for me these past two years, when I’ve been at my lowest. That has to count for something. He didn’t ditch me when the going got tough, instead staying when it mattered most.

Talking of Becca, I haven’t messaged her today. I’ll need to send her a few snaps shortly. Unlike my boyfriend, I am not addicted to my phone. At least, not whilst I’m on holiday, although my guide book peeks out of my bag at me accusingly, as if to say, ‘You’re not much better as you’re always leafing through me.’

I sip my agua dulce . It’s, well, sweet. Unsurprising given the amount of sugar cane in it, and even though it makes me gulp, I like it. I don’t think I’ll need any sugar in my coffee now, though.

‘I’m going to check out the buffet,’ I say, but I might as well be talking to myself as Aidan’s eyes remain on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. Right, time to forget him, I’m starving.

The buffet tables are groaning with a vast variety of fresh fruit, most of which I’ve never seen before. I think that one’s a dragon fruit. I’m sure I saw that as an answer on a quiz programme one time. And that one’s guava– I gleaned that from the guide book– green with pink flesh, and I’m guessing the one next to it is its Costa Rican variant, cas, which is yellow with white flesh. The others, I honestly don’t have the slightest idea what they are.

Ah, there are tiny signs underneath the baskets they’re sitting on. Granadilla . It looks a bit like a passion fruit. Guanabana , which apparently translates as custard apple. Yep, never heard of that one. And the outside of it is like an avocado with spikes. Great if you’re taking a masterclass in how to be attacked by your breakfast. I pass on that one and opt for the granadilla , some papaya, guava and then move on to the stainless-steel containers for the hot food.

First up is gallo pinto . It smells amazing, considering it’s just rice and beans. Then I spot eggs and plantain. I’ve never tried plantain before either. It can’t be so different from a banana, right? But I’d still be stretching my palate. I load up a plate and return to the table.

Aidan eyes my plate with interest. ‘Is that banana and eggs?’

‘Plantain.’

‘Didn’t you get me any?’ he asks, frowning.

‘Well, no,’ I say, slightly flummoxed. ‘I figured you’d want to choose your own.’ I bite my tongue, not voicing that he’s a grown man and well able to fetch his own breakfast.

‘I suppose I’d better go grab myself some then,’ he says in a surly tone. He pinches some of my guava as he passes, pops it in his mouth and moans. ‘Oh, that’s so good.’

I’d agree, but I haven’t had a chance to try it yet. As he leaves, I tuck into my food. It’s delicious, and I savour the sweetness of the fried plantain on my tongue.

You’d have loved this, Dad .

A wave of grief slams into me, and once again I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in coming here with Aidan.