Chapter 5 #2
My hands still wrap around the edge of the golf cart’s bench when we bump over the lip of the pier and tighten as we rumble over the wooden planks, the sound punctuated by the lapping of water against the supports below.
I focus on the horizon—the place where the morning sun burns its way through the wisps of clouds above the water—and breathe deeply.
The breeze carries the unmistakable scent of saltwater and something more complex. Sage and citrus, like a body wash.
Nate. I caught the same scent on the plane and then again on the way to the resort. Of course, this irritating man could smell good after a day’s worth of traveling. Is there anything more infuriating?
As the cart rumbles its way down the pier, vibrating the vehicle, Nate leans over to say, “It’s like a free massage.”
He doesn’t notice my death grip on the seat or that I don’t join him and the driver in returning the waves of a couple leaving their bungalow. It’s for the best because I’m so not ready to talk about this with anyone, especially Gnat.
I focus on his words, like a free massage. That sounds pleasant. Better than thinking about bridges and water and falling off said bridges into said water. I repeat his words in my head, my grip loosening just as we pull up to a bungalow off the middle of the pier.
Nate lets out an impressed whistle as he gets out of the golf cart. “Wow. This place is stunning.”
For possibly the first time in Nate’s life, he is right.
This place is stunning. Like the Bures we passed along the way, the building in front of us is a standalone cabin of sorts with an oversized arching roof that comes to a point.
Sturdy beams hold the building over the water, and a peek over the railing as I walk to the door confirms I can see the bottom in most places, making the situation a lot better.
Seeing the ocean floor means seeing the core of the threat.
At the lagoon’s core, it’s one big, beautiful pool.
Not one I’d be getting into, but one I can now enjoy looking at from a safe distance.
This is where Brody wanted to stay with me? My heart flips, then calms when I remember I’m stuck sharing with his brother instead. It’s a far cry from the romantic tropical escape I envisioned when signing on.
I shake the thoughts from my head and open the bungalow door.
Inside, wooden archways brace high ceilings.
Evenly spaced lengths of wood line the walls, connecting the archways and pulling my gaze to the far side of the bungalow, where sliding glass doors flanked by white curtains frame a preview of the private deck and the blue lagoon beyond.
To the left is a large walk-through closet, its open shelves stocked with slippers, bathrobes, and extra pillows. Looking through the closet, there’s a luxurious free-standing soaker tub I’m definitely taking advantage of on this trip.
“You’re causing a holdup,” Nate says from behind me. In my awe of the accommodations, I came to a standstill in the entryway.
“I’m taking it all in!”
“Can you ‘take it all in’ without trapping me and our bags in the doorway?”
“If there’s a door, you’re not trapped,” I say, only moving once I’m ready to explore the rest of the bungalow.
“Finally.” There is a note of exasperation in Nate’s voice as he cuts through the closet and bathroom, meeting me in the combined living, dining, and sleeping space.
A king bed blanketed in white stands to one side next to a table for two.
Opposite it is a cream L-shaped couch, a wooden coffee table, and an adjustable TV tucked into an alcove.
I set my purse on the foot of the bed. “You can take the couch.”
“If we don’t end up killing each other by the end of this…” Nate mutters, setting his carry-on bag next to the couch. “Toss me some pillows, darling.”
I chuck two pillows from the bed at him. He easily catches both.
“Thanks, dear.”
I ignore him and focus on settling in. If I’m going to be here for two weeks, I’m not living out of a suitcase.
I place my clothes and Brody’s sponsored looks in the closet and drawers, leaving minimal room for Nate’s actual items, as he continues to explore the bungalow.
I’m unpacking my second suitcase when Nate shouts through the balcony’s doorway. “Abigail, you have to see this!”
“See what?” I hang up another sundress while waiting for a response that doesn’t come. “Gnat?”
I go to the door and step out onto the deck, where plush lounge chairs welcome me. However, that isn’t what Nate called me for. No, the man in question is pointing to a set of stairs leading from the deck straight into the water.
“Isn’t this awesome?” he asks, but my mouth is too dry to reply.
I take a step backward. “It’s nice.”
“Nice? Gingersnap, we can literally wake up and be in the water in less than ten seconds if we wanted.”
Who in their right mind would want that?
“And this view?” Nate crosses over to me and waves a hand out in front of us like I don’t know what he’s referring to.
“It’s nice,” I say again.
“No, it’s phenomenal.” The hand he gestured with is now on my back as if to propel me closer to the railing, or, worse yet, the steps.
“Don’t!” My voice is sharp, despite his touch being more encouraging than pushy.
His hand drops immediately, and confusion radiates from him as I avoid eye contact. This isn’t something I can or would explain. Not to Nate. Not to anyone.
I force two deep breaths, the salty air filling my lungs. “I can see the view from here.”
“If you say so.” There’s something in his voice—a wound, perhaps, that I somehow inflicted. Damage I didn’t know I was capable of. “I was only pointing out you can’t get a view like this back in Vegas.”
“Vegas is a desert.”
“I know, so this view is extra special. Or it was until you poo-pooed it.”
“I didn’t poo-poo anything.”
“I think you did.”
“No, I just think you’re forgetting virtual reality exists. When I go to spin class, we can pretend we’re anywhere in the world.”
Nate scoffs. “Virtual reality doesn’t count.”
“Says who?”
“Me!”
“What about your supposed readers? Don’t you want them to be transported to the world you create in your novels?”
“My ‘supposed readers’ are transported,” Nate says, using air quotes, “but I don’t think any of them would claim their imagination is better than experiencing the real deal for themselves. It’s not the same.”
“Sounds like you’re making up a bunch of random rules.”
“Yet I have a feeling you’ll be creating random rules while we’re here.”
I shrug. “Rules make things clear.” Keep people safe.
When people follow the rules, nothing bad is supposed to happen.