Chapter 1 On the Island #3
And then he came to my room the day before I was scheduled to leave.
When I opened the door and saw him standing there, I wanted to close it on his face.
I didn’t like being around him. After catching him yelling at that employee, it felt like everything else he did was an act.
The real John Thornton was the one who chewed out his employees—not the guy who personally checked on his guests, or brought them fresh flowers, or made sure they had the best seat at the restaurant or the best view for the Island show.
When he came into my room, I was expecting some kind of butter-up for the review.
Instead, he paced around the room for a few minutes. His hair was mussed, and he looked rumpled, almost wild. Not his usual self. He turned to me and blurted, “Don’t go tomorrow.”
I thought I needed my hearing checked. “What?”
“Stay longer.”
He wanted more time to prove how great his resort was. But he’d already missed that chance. Staying any longer wouldn’t change my review. My jaw clenched. “I’ve got what I needed.”
“Stay for me.”
I think I shook my head, not out of denial but because I couldn’t believe what I heard.
His palm hit the wall. He dropped his head. “Is that such a horrible thought?”
“I don’t… that’s not…” I couldn’t get my thoughts in order. All this time, I thought he’d been trying to get a good review out of me. But he liked me?
He stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the lines by his eyes but not so close that he was in my personal space. “I’d like to spend more time with you,” he said as if he could hear my thoughts. He cleared his throat. “I know I’m asking a lot but—”
“I can’t stay here.”
He blinked.
“I can’t, and I don’t want to.”
“I thought… I was hoping…”
“If you’re trying to get a good review out of me, this is not the way to go about it.”
His eyebrows lowered. He looked dangerous then, but I wasn’t afraid—only annoyed. Annoyed that I was in this situation. A situation that I hadn’t recognized.
“I’m not doing this for a good review. I like you.”
His admission caught me off guard. People didn’t usually tell you stuff like that straight up. At least not in my experience.
“I’m not interested.” I almost apologized, but I stopped myself. What did I have to be sorry for when I didn’t return his feelings?
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. Maybe he wasn’t used to getting turned down. “You said, on the phone…”
We never talked on the phone. “What are you talking about?”
“I overheard you.” His tanned cheeks managed to go red. “I shouldn’t have been listening, but you were talking about me.”
I think he dreamt that. I had no recollection of talking about him to anyone. “When was this?”
“Yesterday. You complimented the resort, and me.” He gave me a wry smile. “You said I was handsome.”
I held back a laugh, but my lips still twitched. He must have mistaken my meaning, because he leaned toward me. I pushed my hand against his chest, stopping him.
“Hold up.” There’s no way I said any of that. Okay, he was good-looking, but I would never admit that out loud to anyone. Especially since his personality made him considerably less attractive.
And then it dawned on me.
“That conversation isn’t what you think,” I said. His heartbeat pulsed against my palm. I still had my hand on his chest. I quickly lowered it.
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. “I was talking to Mena Boucher. She’s a travel writer and an Instagram influencer like me, except she does more opinion pieces mixed with gossip and less about the actual destination.”
John was still close, and I was having a hard time organizing my thoughts. I stepped back.
“She wanted dirt on the resort. But I wouldn’t talk bad about my worst enemy to her. So when she was grilling me, I…”
He glowered. “You lied?”
“You don’t get it. She’s horrible. Everything she writes is negative and sarcastic, but people eat it up. I can’t stand it.”
“So you lied. You don’t really think those things.”
I swallowed. I knew what a jerk I was going to sound like but, even though I’d lied to Mena and I would do it again in a heartbeat, I wouldn’t lie now. “No, I don’t really think those things.”
He searched my face and, not finding what he wanted, shut down. “Fine. I’m sorry I said anything.” He booked it from the room, slamming the door before I could register he was gone.
I didn’t expect to see him again after that, but the next day before I left, he appeared while I was checking out, asking in a polite and professional manner if I enjoyed my stay and if there was anything he could do to improve the resort.
“Read my review,” I said, uncomfortable at being near him and wishing he was mad at me. That would’ve been easier to deal with.
“I will,” he replied, but I’d already turned from him. I was so ready to be away from that resort and back to my mom.
And now I’m back, and alone in a car with him, no less.
The road gradually curves to the coast, magnificent blue water kissing the endless stretch of white sandy beach.
I drink in the view. Take in the ocean air, the breeze on my face cooling my skin.
Palm trees dot the other side of the road.
The wild grass grows a little too high, but I like it.
The whole island screams paradise. If only I was with someone else.
But I realize how comfortable I am. Somewhere a few miles back, the awkwardness disappeared. Of course, now that I think about it, it’s back.
I glance at John, and he’s got one hand on the steering wheel. The other elbow rests on the open window, his hand curling against the back of his neck. He looks perfectly at ease. The wind ruffles his hair. He glances over at me and smiles, and my heart jumps.
It’s got to be because he looks good, that’s all. Because I don’t like this guy.
“Look over there,” he says.
I’ve been staring at him. Great.
I turn back to the ocean. John pulls over while I squint to make out what he’s telling me to look at. There’s something there, far out in the water. We’re too far away for me to tell what it is.
“Here, hold on.” John leans over me and opens the glove compartment. I press myself against the chair but that doesn’t stop me from smelling the coconut scent of his shampoo. A silver scar crosses his elbow, and I wonder absently where he got it from.
“Try this.”
He’s close. I never realized his eyes are blue. It takes me a second to register the binoculars in his hand.
“Thanks.” The binoculars show me what I couldn’t see before—three dolphins leaping out of the ocean in smooth arcs. I can’t stop my squeal. “It’s incredible!”
I watch until they’ve swum too far even for the binoculars to make out.
“Was that your first time?”
Even though I know it’s totally innocent, a flush spreads over my neck at his question. I keep my gaze on the ocean. “No. But it never gets old.”
His hand touches mine, and I flinch before realizing he’s just taking the binoculars from me. He puts them away and then pulls back onto the road.
About a half-hour later, he pulls away from the coast and drives inland.
Small, rustic houses appear, some so rundown they look like one stiff breeze would blow them over.
Others are well kept up, displaying neat yards, flower gardens, and colorful siding.
More appear until we’re in town, the only town on the island.
Whitewashed shops and open restaurants line the street, but nothing fancy.
It’s clear this part of the island isn’t a tourist hot spot.
Local kids play in the street. A group of old men sit in front of a post office/convenience store.
They wave at John as we drive by slowly.
Some of the kids chase the car, calling his name.
He stops the car beside an open building. “I hope you’re hungry,” he says, getting out of the car.
The smell of roasting meat and garlic hits me, and suddenly I’m ravenous. Wooden picnic benches sit on the dirt, an awning shading the blazing sun from our heads.
“Johnny!” the woman behind the counter calls out. She rushes to him, her arms outstretched. He smiles and returns the hug, and I can’t help but gape.
“You haven’t been here in so long,” she says, her English accented with the local dialect.
“I know, Alvita, I’m sorry.”
“You’re too busy—too busy,” she says, shaking her head. Then she sees me. “And who is this? You finally got yourself a woman?”
John blushes. Blushes. “This is Margaret, a…friend.”
“Hi.” I reach my hand out for Alvita to shake, but instead she squishes me in a hug. She smells like onions and the ocean and, surprisingly, I like the combination.
“Sit! Sit!” She motions to the tables. “I’ll make you the best meal you’ll have on the island. Much better than what those fancy chefs make at John’s place.”
It’s funny how she calls it John’s place, as if it’s his house or a small restaurant and not a gigantic resort.
“It’s true,” John says, “although I probably shouldn’t admit that to you.” He grins.
“Why not?” Alvita asks.
I don’t know if John doesn’t hear or purposely avoids the question, but he turns away to talk to a younger guy behind the counter who’s wearing an apron and holding a spatula.
Alvita looks at me expectantly.
“I’m a travel blogger. I travel all over the world and write reviews of the places I’ve been.”
I don’t know what I was expecting from her, but it wasn’t the knowing look she gives me accompanied by an, “Ah.” Did John tell her about me? Are they that close?
“Well, have a seat. The food will be out in a few.”
“But I didn’t order anything yet,” I say.
She laughs as she walks away.
I sit down at an empty picnic table and proceed to do one of my favorite things—people watch.
I’ve always been fascinated by people and places.
Sometimes I think I do too much watching and not enough living.
Then I remember all the places I’ve travelled and the fact that I earn a living by being observant.