Chapter 12
12
RUBY
I storm out of Chuck's bungalow, my face burning hotter than the jungle heat. Of all the people to run into here. For God’s sake. Chuck Newcomb, my brother's teammate and probably my least favorite friend of my brother’s.
In fact, I’ve often wondered why Tyler pals around with him, but I think I know the answer if I were to ask him. My brother is nice—too nice—and probably felt badly for the rookie player, new to town and all that.
And now I’ve seen the man practically naked. Because the universe hates me.
What the hell is he doing here, at a librarian retreat? Why the hell is he wearing nothing but a pair of boxers? And why the hell is he in my room?
I march toward the front desk, my old suitcase rattling behind me like an angry pet. The humidity wraps around me like a thick, wet blanket and within minutes, I'm sweating profusely. I make the mistake of bringing my hand to my hair and just as I expect, its already voluminous shape and size has doubled, transforming me into a petite woman with a tumble weed on her head. Some unfortunate tendrils are plastered to my neck, adding to my misery as perspiration dribbles down my back and lands on the waistband of my khakis.
As I trudge along, I spot a monkey perched in a nearby tree. It cocks its head at me, as if to say, ‘What's your problem, lady?’ For a brief, hysterical moment, I wonder if monkeys can carry rabies. Knowing my luck today, this one probably does, and it's about to launch itself at my face.
That could put an end to my problems.
San Francisco woman succumbs to wounds inflicted by insane monkey.
"Don't even think about it," I hiss as I pass. It chitters in response, sounding suspiciously like laughter. Aimed at me.
By the time I reach the front desk, I'm beyond sweaty and frazzled. The clerk behind the desk, a cheery man with a perpetual smile, looks up as I approach. His smile falters slightly as he takes in my bedraggled, pissed off appearance.
"Can I help you, Se?orita ?" he asks in a cautious voice.
I slam my hands on the desk, immediately regretting it as the impact sends shockwaves of pain up my arms.
"Yes," I say, straining to keep my voice level and forcing my lips into a twisted smile. "There seems to be a problem with my reservation."
The clerk's smile returns full force. "Ah, sí ! You are Se?orita Brooks. We've been expecting you and Se?or Newcomb. My coworker Dharma must have greeted you when you were dropped off by the resort van."
If Dharma is the woman in the flowing pants and flowers in her hair, then yes, we are talking about the same person.
But this man just said something strange.
“What do you mean, expecting me and Se?or Newcomb?"
"Your reservation," he says, tapping at his computer. "It was made for two people. You and Se?or Newcomb."
I laugh, but it sounds more like a strangled cry. "Oh no. There must be some mistake. He’s here on his own. I'm here for the librarian retreat. I have a single reservation. For a single room. As in by myself. All by myself. Alone."
The man’s brow furrows in confusion. "The librarian retreat? Oh, se?orita , I'm so sorry. That is next week."
No, no, no.
I’m going to kill my brother. That’s all there is to it. I love him, but I must kill him.
He got the wrong fucking week.
" Next week? As in not this week?" I stumble.
He nods sympathetically. " Sí, and it will be lovely. We have librarians coming from all over the world. The USA, of course, but also France and Japan..." he clicks his keyboard, “and Russia, and Kenya?—"
I wave at him to stop. I don’t need to hear about the fabulous retreat I’ll be missing, thanks to my generous but not-detail-oriented brother.
"How… ?" I ask, my voice dripping in the last bit of patience I can muster.
He taps a few more keys, his frown deepening. "According to our records, Se?or Newcomb called to make the reservation. He specifically asked to be placed with Ruby Brooks. You, Se?orita ."
I'm about to protest when an annoyingly deep voice cuts through my confusion.
"What's going on here?"
I turn to see Chuck hustling toward us, his hair damp from what I assume was a much-needed shower. His glasses are fogged up from the humidity, giving him a comically bewildered look, made even funnier by his towering height. Despite my anger and frustration, I can't help but notice how his t-shirt clings to his still-damp skin, outlining muscles that... nope. Not going there.
"Apparently," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "you made us a couples' reservation, Chuck. Care to explain?"
His eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. "I did what ?"
The clerk looks between us like he wished he’d stayed in bed all day. " Se?or Newcomb, when you called to book, you asked to be placed with Ruby Brooks."
Chuck shakes his head vehemently. "No, no, I didn't. I just wanted to be on the same retreat her brother said she was going to because I didn’t know anything else about it. I never asked to share a room. I never said we were coming together. We barely even know each other."
My brother’s a dead man walking. That’s all there is to it. He’s a good guy. He practically raised me after our mother died.
But that counts for nothing now. Nothing.
Chuck grimaces. "You misunderstood me," he says to the clerk.
The man looks between the two of us, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "But... you two know each other, no? You are not friends?"
I snort. "Friends? With him? I'd rather befriend that possibly rabid monkey I saw earlier."
Chuck clutches his chest in mock pain. "Ouch, Brooks. And here I thought we were really bonding back in my bungalow."
I feel my face heat up again at the memory. "We are never speaking of that again, remember?"
The clerk clears his throat, drawing our attention back to him. "Perhaps... this is an opportunity, no? Maybe you could become friends..."
Oh forfuck’ssake.
Chuck and I exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between us. We turn back to the clerk in perfect unison.
"No," we say together.
The clerk sighs, shaking his head. "Well, regardless of the mix-up, I'm sure you'll both enjoy our couples retreat this week. It will be lovely, even though you are too early for the fabulous librarian one, Se?orita ."
Rub it in, why don’t you?
Wait. Did he just say c ouples retreat ?
I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. Ruby, you can handle this. You're an adult. A professional. You can find a solution.
"Fine," I say, my voice surprisingly calm. "Just give me my own room, and we can pretend this whole mix-up never happened."
I glance at Chuck, and he nods. At least we agree on something.
Now it’s the clerk’s turn to grimace.
What’s going on?
He tap-taps on his keyboard, his expression morphing from concern to frustration, back to the cordial one he was wearing when I first arrived. Through an insufferable smile, he shakes his head. "Ah, about that... we don't have any other rooms available. The retreat is fully booked."
For a moment, there's silence. Then…
" What ?" Chuck and I exclaim in unison.
The clerk holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm so sorry. But look on the bright side! The bungalows are quite spacious, and they have a lovely view of the ocean."
I turn to Chuck, my eyes narrowing. "This is all your fault."
He gapes at me. "My fault? How is this my fault?"
"If you hadn't asked Tyler about my retreat?—"
“If you had double-checked your dates?—"
"If you weren't such a nosy, overgrown?—"
"Excuse me," the clerk interrupts. We turn to look at him, and I'm surprised to see a hint of steel in his eyes. Guess this is not the first time he’s had to mediate. "Perhaps it would be best if you both took some time to... cool off. Why don't you go to your bungalow, unpack, and then join the welcome circle later? I'm sure things will seem better after you've had a chance to catch your breath. Here…"
He pauses and reaches under his desk.
And returns with two bottles of water.
“Please,” he says, handing one to each of us. “Oh me.” He beams.
Chuck accepts his with a smile, as if the gesture makes everything okay.
I, on the other hand, want to argue, to demand he find me another room, to insist that there's no way I'm sharing a bungalow with Chuck Newcomb for a night, never mind an entire week. But the clerk's expression tells me it would be futile. Instead I respond with tears, like the idiot I am.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
“I… I just wanted a break. A break from life. And I get this ,” I wail gesturing at both men. “And I wasn’t in a van on the way here. It was a bus. With live chickens and an old man who wanted to marry me.”
While it all seemed quaint at the time, I’m getting more and more upset. About everything.
The clerk frowns at me. “Bus? What do you mean bus? We have a very nice resort van to pick up our guests.” Then he taps his temple as if a light just came on. “ Se?orita , you did not take the local bus, did you? The yellow one?”
I nod through more tears.
“ Se?orita , that was not the resort van,” he starts to explain.
“I KNOW THAT NOW,” I bellow.
Chuck takes my elbow. “Ruby, look, you’re tired, I’m tired, let’s just go relax for a bit and figure this out.”
"Fine," I say, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "But this… this isn't over."
Chuck nods. "For once, Brooks, we're on the same page."
He reaches for my wheelie suitcase, ever the gentleman, but I smack his hand away. I managed to get all the way to Pura Vida without any help from him. Does he think I can’t get back to the room on my own?
I storm off, speed walking to get away from him, but he keeps up. The heat is even more oppressive now, and a headache builds behind my eyes. God, I hope I packed aspirin.
As we walk, I can't help but sneak glances at Chuck. He looks about as thrilled as I feel, his jaw set in a hard line. It's a far cry from his usual cocky grin, and for a moment, I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
We reach the bungalow, where Chuck holds the door open. I raise an eyebrow at this unexpected display of chivalry.
“What?" he says defensively. "I'm not a complete Neanderthal."
I roll my eyes but mumble a ‘thanks’ as I pass him. Inside, the bungalow seems smaller than I remember. The bed, which had looked so inviting earlier, looms like a challenge.
"So," Chuck says, breaking the awkward silence. "How do you want to do this?"
I take a deep breath, trying to approach this rationally. "Well, let's lay down some ground rules. First, you take the couch."
Chuck's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me? Have you seen me? I'm 6'4". I won't fit on that couch."
I cross my arms. "Well, I'm not sharing the bed with you."
"We could alternate," he suggests. "You take the bed one night, I take it the next."
I consider this for a moment. It's not ideal, but it's probably the fairest solution. "Fine," I concede. "But I get it first."
Chuck grins, and for a second, I'm reminded of why half the women in San Francisco swoon over him. "Deal. Now, about the bathroom situation..."
We spend the next half hour hammering out a detailed schedule for bathroom usage, shelf space allocation, and general cohabitation rules. By the end of it, I feel like I've negotiated a peace treaty between warring nations.
"Okay," I say, looking at the elaborate chart we've created. "I think this could work. As long as we both stick to the schedule and respect each other's space, we might actually survive this week."
Chuck nods, looking as exhausted as I feel.
I shrug. "Agreed. And hey, look on the bright side. We can hang out and relax, I suppose."
Chuck freezes. "Ruby," he says slowly. "I think we might have a bigger problem."
"What do you mean?"
He takes a deep breath. "I think this might actually be a couples retreat . Like, a kinky-sexy kind of retreat.”
A lump builds in my throat and more tears threaten. I can’t remember such a fucked-up situation, ever.
Chuck's eyes widen at my distress, and then, to my surprise, he starts laughing. Not just a chuckle, but full-on, doubled-over laughter.
"What's so funny?" I demand, feeling my face heat up again.
He removes his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "Oh man, Brooks. You should see your face right now. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe a really kinky ghost."
And then, I can't help myself. A giggle escapes me, then another, and suddenly we're both howling with laughter. The absurdity of the situation—the mix-up, the shared bungalow, the realization about the nature of the retreat—it's all just too much.
As our laughter subsides, I find myself looking at Chuck in a new light. Maybe, just maybe, this week won't be a total disaster.
"So," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Partner yoga at 5?"
I grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him. "In your dreams, Newcomb."
He catches it easily, grinning. "Can't blame a guy for trying. I’m sorry about this, Ruby. I really am. I feel like I ruined your trip."
I sign. “Well, it’s not all your fault. In fact, it was kind of ruined before I even arrived. Tyler booked me into the wrong week, so even if we weren’t stuck sharing, everything would be messed up.”
As we unpack, settling into our designated spaces, I can't shake the feeling that this week is going to be… different. For better or worse, I'm stuck with Chuck Newcomb, at a couples retreat, in one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.
As I watch him struggle to fit his hockey-player frame into our tiny closet space, I figure this might be okay. A break from routine. A challenge. An adventure.
Or not.