Chapter 1 On the Island #2
“Another glass of wine?” the waiter asks, and I shake my head. I never drink more than one. I am here on business, after all.
“Dessert will be out in a moment,” he says, clearing my empty plate.
The ahi tuna was excellent, cooked and seasoned perfectly.
The picture is already on my Instagram story.
I may have issues with John Thornton, but I never fail to post about good food.
The restaurant is definitely getting my top rating again.
I make a few more notes in my notebook about the feelings the restaurant and the food invoke in me. What I love especially this time.
A plate of decadent-looking chocolate mousse is placed in front of me. I look up to tell the waiter thank you, only to meet the eyes of John Thornton.
“How was the fish?” he asks, taking the empty chair across from me.
My mouth tightens. Last year, at this same restaurant, he decided he needed to sit with me while I ate, as if he was daring me to write up something bad. Either that or he felt bad for me, a woman eating alone. I didn’t appreciate his company then, and I don’t want it now.
“It was excellent,” I say, though it doesn’t sound like I mean it.
“Good.” His smile dies when he sees my face. He clears his throat. “Is there anything you’d like me to schedule you for during the week?”
Why? So nothing will go wrong? “I’ll do it myself, but thank you.” I can’t get a regular experience if I let him manage my whole vacation.
He nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” Unlikely.
He doesn’t get up. I stare.
“Are you going to try it?”
I forgot about the dessert in front of me. I glance at him, but he makes no move to leave. I don’t need an audience, thanks!
But I pick up my fork and cut through the mousse. Put it in my mouth, the fork slowly sliding from my lips as the chocolate fills my mouth, melting on my tongue.
A hum escapes my lips. My eyes are closed. They pop open when I realize how I must look. John is watching me, the corners of his lips turned up.
Dang, he probably thought I was flirting or something. Playing coy.
“It’s…” I clear my throat. “It’s very good.” I take a selfie with a forkful of mousse near my mouth. An older lady at the table next to mine gives me a look, but I just smile at her. People can judge me all they want, but this is my job. It’s what my followers expect.
“I thought so too.” John stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Meg.”
I choke on the dessert. Tomorrow? Why?
A cool breeze blows over me, and I roll over in bed with a contented sigh. I didn’t need air conditioning, just the breeze coming through the screen doors. The bed is soft, and I smush my face into the pillow. I’m too comfortable to get up.
I glance at the clock. Dang. Eleven AM. I never sleep this late.
For a few seconds, I argue with myself about getting up or not. I don’t really have to, but I should.
After a quick shower, I knot my hair into a wet bun, put on a bit of waterproof makeup—it’s all going to melt off my face anyway—and then head out.
I stroll through the resort, snap pictures, make notes of everything that’s changed, what has stayed the same.
I grab a water and a muffin from a café but don’t sit to eat—just keep walking.
I pass older couples walking hand in hand.
Families with young kids, the parents still yawning while the kids bounce in anticipation of the day.
There are sunbathers at the various pools and early drinkers sitting at the poolside bars.
The clientele is diverse in age and ethnicity.
It takes me more than an hour to walk pretty much everywhere aside from the floors of rooms. Downing the last of my water and then throwing the bottle into a recycle bin, I start to venture where I don’t belong.
Into Staff-Only floors, kitchens of the different restaurants.
I find John Thornton’s office again, but he’s not there.
Neither is his secretary. Probably on lunch, which means I timed it perfectly.
The office is neat. No papers strewn on the desk, no dust on the bookshelf. I don’t rifle through his drawers—it’s not like I’m trying to get dirt on him or anything. I already got the dirt last time, already saw the truth. I don’t even know why I’m back here again, as if things will be different.
No, I know why I’m here—as a favor to my dad. I stop and check the number of comments on my latest post. People are interested to know why I’m back. Second chances, I type, because it’s sort of true.
I close the door behind me and continue through the resort.
The sunshine outside beckons, so I walk through the manicured grounds, inhaling the scent of tropical flowers mixed with humidity. Sweat gathers on my hairline, but I don’t mind. The heat covers my skin like a blanket.
I round a corner, then stop. There’s John, surrounded by a handful of workers who all look like they’re in their late teens. His back is to me so I stay put and listen.
“…lack of rain, and we need to keep on top of that. You’ve done an excellent job this past week. I’ve noticed how hard you’ve all worked, and I want to say thank you. Keep it up.”
The workers grin at each other, and John gives them all high-fives like some goofy older brother and not their boss. The boss who yells at his employees…
He turns away and sees me, hesitates a moment before walking towards me.
“That was very buddy-buddy of you,” I say. I expect him to get defensive. Instead, he quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Despite what you may think, I do my best to treat my employees with respect. I’m firm, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly as well.”
Huh. “Then what about what I witnessed last time?”
He crosses his arms. He’s wearing a white button-down that’s rolled up at the sleeves, and my eyes go to his tanned arms before returning to his face.
“What you witnessed last time was my anger at a man who was harassing some of our female employees. I admit, I was angry. I couldn’t really help it after I heard what he did.”
I swallow, speechless.
“You know, Meg, if you want to know anything about me, about the resort, all you have to do is ask. I’m not perfect by any means, but I don’t have anything to hide.”
I watch him walk away, my gut churning with a very unpleasant feeling.
“I’d like to take a tour of the island,” I say at the concierge desk. “What’s the best way to go about that?”
Last time I was here, I never left the resort. Bad research on my part as a travel blogger. This time I want to experience the island and its people, local delicacies in real conditions, not watered down or jazzed up by a resort.
“We have daily tours which start at 9 am every morning,” the concierge—Frances—says. She pulls out a brochure. “The tour stops at a market, a few especially beautiful viewpoints on the island, as well as some food stops to taste local delicacies.”
“And what if I wanted to go on my own?”
“You can rent a car, but I warn you they’re not usually reliable. You can also take a bus, but the bus schedule is very random and sometimes unpredictable. The tour is the best and most secure way to see the island.”
I open my mouth, ready to pick the rental car option—I can always call the resort for a tow if the car breaks down, right?—when a voice stops me.
“I’ll take her.”
John appears beside me. He leans over the counter and smiles at Frances, who blushes.
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. This can’t be what he meant by ‘See you tomorrow’—he’d had no idea what I had planned. Or maybe he’s following me. Or having me tailed. I scoff at my own paranoia. He may have had feelings for me once, but he’s not a stalker.
I raise an eyebrow and check him out from head to toe just in case. He raises an eyebrow back.
“It will be my pleasure.”
Now I’m the one blushing. Dangit. “I’d really rather go on my own. I’m hoping to get an…unfiltered view of the island.”
He angles his body toward me. “Frances wasn’t lying when she said the rental cars are unreliable. You’ll be lucky to get ten minutes from the resort. I’m happy to take you in my car.”
I look him square in the face. “You’re trying your best to get a better review this time.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Yes. But I also don’t want to spend my day worrying about you.”
I blink, surprised by his honesty, especially in front of Frances, who is leaning forward with her mouth open as if she’s trying to see what our conversation tastes like.
“It’s not your business to worry about me.” It comes out harsher than I mean, but I don’t take it back.
He searches my face. “If something happens to a writer reviewing my resort, I think that is my business.”
Something swoops in my gut briefly, but there’s no way it’s disappointment. It’s gone in a flash, replaced with my usual stubbornness. “I’ll really be fine. I have a phone in case anything happens.”
“There’s barely any service on the island.”
I huff. “Is there anything I can say that will convince you to let me go alone?”
He smirks. “No.”
“Fine,” I bite out. “Let’s go.”
Being alone in a car with a man I rejected is not awkward at all.
This is what I keep telling myself as John pulls out of the perfectly manicured resort and onto a decidedly less kept-up road. The car is a two-seater convertible, more cute than sporty. What I’d expect a rich sorority girl to drive and not a businessman like John.
He’s driving slow, which my hair appreciates, and I can hear the Beatles faintly through the speakers. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. I don’t know what to say.
I’m not sure why he insisted on taking me around the island today. Was it really all because he was worried? I don’t get why he wants to be around me at all, considering my last visit.
After our rocky introduction, I never could warm up to him, no matter what he did to try and impress me. I thought it was all for a good review.