Chapter 8
As the final rays of daylight fizzle out over the horizon, like a laser show of pinks and golds, I say goodbye to Abby and slowly walk back up to the townhouse. Straining my eyes and ears for anyone else who may be approaching, I wipe sand off my feet and push the sliding door open on the back deck, not taking any more chances of getting stuck out front.
When I get inside, I turn on the light and shove the takeout containers into a trash bin under the kitchen sink. Then I turn on the faucet and search for a napkin or dish towel, hoping to wipe more of that orange chicken stain off my dress. But, before I can find either, a knock on the front door startles me.
I freeze.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself.
I look at the clock on the microwave. It’s only seven fifteen. The sun must go down early here, which means that could still be the Airbnb guy with the shades.
I start saying a silent prayer that either Phil or Dom is standing on the other side of that door with a stack of window shades. There’s no peephole, so I pull the bucket hat down as low as it’ll go and push the enormous red sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. Then I slide the chain lock securely on the door and attempt to open it. It takes me three yanks, but it suddenly jerks back about three inches before the chain catches in place.
It’s Rex.
My stomach slingshots to the floor.
I immediately tilt my chin down so my makeshift disguise is covering most of my face, fighting the urge to slam the door in his. It’s mostly dark out and I’m only lit from behind by the kitchen light. I hope it’s not enough to blow my cover.
“Oh, so someone is here!” Rex stammers. “I wasn’t sure if this place was still empty or not. I saw a light on.”
That voice. I haven’t heard it in a month. It hits me like a hundred pins pricking my skin.
My heart beats frantically in my ears, breaking the silence that hangs between us.
I don’t know how to answer him.
He’ll recognize my voice right away.
I consider just slamming the door again, but out of sheer panic I add a horrible British accent to my voice before responding.
“Checked in today!”
Oh my God, I sound like Eliza Doolittle.
When he doesn’t say anything right away, I dip my chin down even lower and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t recognize me.
“Right.” He pauses. “This place has been empty since — um, well, anyway, that doesn’t matter. I’m just having a little get-together tonight out back. I didn’t realize someone would be here when I planned it. Sorry. We’ll keep it down.”
He has friends here? Already? How?
Cologne wafts through the crack in the door. His signature scent. The one that clung to everything he touched in our apartment after he left. Spicy juniper and sandalwood.
If he already has friends on the island, what if he has a date coming tonight, too?
My mouth goes dry when I think of him having another woman here. I don’t think I’m mentally strong enough to listen to Rex fucking someone else through that shared wall.
These walls better not be as thin as my patience.
“Okay,” I squeak out. “Thanks.”
He starts to go, but turns back just as I’m about to close the door.
“You’re welcome to join too, if it’s going to be a bother.” He adds a softer tone to his voice. “This shared deck thing is kind of weird. I didn’t realize it had that when I booked this place. I don’t want to monopolize the whole thing. We can also just head down to the beach, if that’s better for you?”
I swallow hard and nod.
“Okay. Won’t be too late. Sorry again.” He gives a little wave, scrunching his face into a concerned smile. I’m sure he thinks whoever moved in is acting absurd, hiding behind a hat and sunglasses when the sun has already gone down.
After he disappears into his unit, I close the door, resting my forehead against it until I feel the latch click shut.
This is exactly why I didn’t want a shared rental. I can’t focus on doing anything — especially writing — while my neighbor, aka my ex, is holding a party on my deck. Just the sound of his voice a few feet away has already pulled apart that deep-rooted feeling in my gut. The one that hasn’t gone away in a month.
I slide to the floor with my back against the door. Feeling just like I did after Rex left me back in New York.
Alone.
And deeply annoyed.
I wistfully stare at my prosecco bottle sitting on the counter, mostly empty. I wish I had a long straw so I could just suck down the rest of my prosecco without getting up.
I drum my fingers against the floor as jet lag hits me like a ton of bricks. I’d like to just pass out right here, then wake up tomorrow to find out everything about today was just a bad dream.
But before I can launch myself into a full-blown pity party, the light on Rex’s side of the deck switches on.
I stay slumped on the floor while he appears.
Fluffing up patio pillows and wiping bits of sand off the seat cushions. Prepping for his ridiculous party. Looking downright cheerful about it.
As quietly as I can, I start tiptoeing my way around the townhouse, turning off all the lights until the entire unit is pitch black. Then I grab what’s left of the prosecco bottle before settling back on the couch, my bucket hat still pulled down over my face, just in case.
If I have to listen to my ex throw a party right outside my very expensive vacation rental, then I’m at least going to get my money’s worth and spy on the bastard.