Chapter 23 Day 3, Cabo San Lucas #2
“I don’t see a tattoo. Do you see a tattoo?”
“IS IT ON YOUR BUTT?!” Max. Oh, my dear little Max.
Blakey cackles. “It’s on his butt!”
Beckett coughs, flustered. “Nobody’s butt is involved, okay? And hey—did you guys tell me about the kids’ club yet? What was the name of the game you played yesterday? The treasure one?”
Max is instantly distracted. “Pirate Quest Adventure! I found five gold coins!”
“And I built a ship out of foam blocks,” Blakey adds proudly.
Beckett grins at them—the soft one reserved especially for our boys.
I can’t control the way my heart swells up.
I kneel beside Blakey, helping him smooth sunscreen along his cheeks. “Did you tell Dad about the magician? And the balloon swords?”
Blakey nods vigorously. “We battled a dragon. Max cheated.”
“I did not!”
“You so did!”
Their bickering fills the room, familiar and warm. And it almost feels like a gut check, a reminder to move slowly, carefully.
Regardless of whichever direction I take.
Beckett grabs their water bottles, double-checks the name labels, then hands Max his sandals.
And when he looks at me, I hold his gaze, but only for a second.
We finish getting them dressed—me tugging Blakey’s shirt straight, Beckett fixing the Velcro on Max’s sandals—moving around each other without touching.
But the awareness is there.
“Ready, guys?” he asks.
They yell, “YES!” in unison.
We usher the boys toward the door, Max already rattling off his official pirate nickname, Blakey sliding both arms into his backpack.
I catch Beckett watching me, but I don’t hold his gaze for long.
Last night meant nothing. Because nothing happened. And nothing else is going to happen.
“Okay! Let’s go, then!” All my focus is on the boys again.
We have a big day ahead of us. Look forward, not back.
Forward, Ashley.
Half an hour later, the four of us climb into the tender boat. The sun is already high, the water brilliant blue, and the boys are vibrating with excitement as the motor starts up. Beckett’s hand brushes mine as we steady the twins between us.
Just a touch.
For a heartbeat, everything almost feels… Like it used to.
I accept that as the boat jets away from the ship. I even let myself relax, that is, until we step onto the dock.
Most of the wedding guests are already milling around—and I immediately start scanning the marina. I’m looking for the yacht, the one from the website. Sleek. Modern. Seaworthy.
I don’t see it.
I see a few other tenders. A couple of fishing boats. Vendors lining the dock with coolers and sun-faded umbrellas.
But no yacht.
“Faraday—Grady party! Theees way!”
The voice cuts through the crowd.
A swarthy man in a crooked captain’s hat and a faded T-shirt with CABO SAN LUCAS across the chest is waving his arm like he’s directing traffic. Not exactly who I pictured.
My stomach tightens. But he’s already corralling my group down the dock.
And then I see it, moored to the very last wooden posts.
A two-story wide-bodied vessel that smells of asphalt and old wood, with paint chipping, and tilting railings.
I slow to a stop.
This cannot possibly be ours.
I flip through the mental checklist I live by. Fine print read. Reviews checked. Comparisons made twice. Except—
I pull out my phone, search through confirmation emails.
The man at the dock keeps waving, cheerful and oblivious.
“Right this way!”
The email I managed to thumb to reads… The Great Arch Explorer.
My head snaps up. Because that’s the name on this rickety, listing, end-of-the-dock thing—
No.
No, no, no.
I have been… distracted. Not careless. Never careless. Just… a little stressed.
Still, this boat isn’t even close to what I booked.
“Wait! Excuse me!” I raise my voice, and then wave a hand in the air trying to get someone’s attention.
But no one is listening to me.
Beckett glances back with a question in his eyes, but he’s holding the boys’ hands, and with them pulling him over a feeble-looking plank and onto the boat, there isn’t much he can do.
Meanwhile. I. Am. Panicking.
This is… this is… It’s not what I ordered!
I try to hurry around Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker and then scooch by the two Baxter sisters without pushing any of them overboard, but just as I find my footing, my ears are assaulted by the crackling sound of a too-loud microphone.
“?Hola, mis amigos! I am Captain Julio, and I am so, so happy to welcome you aboard El Arco Explorer! ?Bienvenidos! ?Cómo están today? Are we all ready to have some fun?”
Our crowd offers a half-hearted cheer, so Captain Julio cups a hand to his ear. “?Qué pasó? I can’t hear you! Are we ready to have some fun or what?”
“Yeah…” A few people clap.
“You betcha!” Luna pumps a fist in the air.
“Mucho mejor!” he declares, beaming and proud.
It’s awkward. Excruciatingly so. But beside me, Beckett lets out a loud whistle and my two boys are giggling.
What did I do to deserve this?
“This is an all-inclusive excursion, amigos. Beer for you?” He tosses a can of something I don’t recognize across to Rocky, and another to Simon, and then Noah. “We also have margaritas, of course! No one will judge here, eh? Not in Margaritaville.”
He pauses for laughter, and when it doesn’t come fast enough, he supplies his own. “Ha! That one usually kills!”
“Now, before we sail, I must know—who is it that is getting married this week? Who is my lucky couple?”
Luna, radiant as ever in her floppy sunhat, takes Noah’s arm with one hand and raises the other. “We are!”
“Ahhh, la novia!” he exclaims, clutching his chest dramatically. “Beautiful bride! What’re you marrying this guy for, eh?” He points at Noah, then winks outrageously. “Not such a pretty lady as you. You want someone important, like the captain of a ship, no?” He winks.
This time, everyone around bursts into laughter. Luna laughs. Noah laughs. Even my mother laughs.
I do not.
Captain Julio keeps going, undeterred. “I take you to the arches. Lovers Beach. Just you and me and sunshine and tequila.”
Luna covers her mouth, giggling. “Tempting!”
He slaps his knee, delighted. “But we no end up on the other side of the arch—Divorce Beach. Too much danger. If you go in, no one will save you.”
At that word, my gaze snaps to Beckett.
Just for a second, the deck seems to tilt, and I tighten my grip on the railing until the world steadies again.
Wrong side of the arch, my brain supplies, unhelpfully.
Captain Julio barrels on, oblivious. “But we not talk about that today. Not until after magical honeymoon!”
Noah playfully pulls Luna close. “Not in this lifetime, Julio,” he says.
And of course, the only person not laughing—is still me.
“Then I am to be broken-hearted.” Though obviously not too broken-hearted as he’s already eyeing Tay and Courtney.
“But I recover quickly,” he adds, toggling his brows.
“So don’t feel sad for me. Everyone smile!
Smile! Smile!” He sweeps his arm toward two teenage boys in matching polos and reflective sunglasses.
“Our paparazzi crew will be around to make you famous! Beautiful people! Movie stars! They are here for you!!”
Those boys are crouching low, cameras ready, as if they really are paparazzi.
I already can see these photos printed on cheap keychains and sold back to us for thirty dollars apiece.
“Below deck, we have our culinary experience!” Captain Fast-Talker barrels on.
“Fresh tacos, fresh chips, fresh… uh… something! You hungry? Jalapeno guacamole for the brave! Good! Go down the first stairs! And below that—” he drops his voice dramatically “—below-below deck, is our submarine experience.
‘Cause we all live in a yellow submarine! Ha ha! See fish! See bubbles! Maybe see your reflection in the glass—who knows?”
He laughs again.
“Where did you find this guy?” Beckett says into my ear.
“I didn’t,” I grumble back.
“You will hear plenty from me as we go on this little adventure. But for now,” Julio circles one hand in the hair. “Let’s paaaarty!”
Music cranks up, replacing his voice over the speakers. Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville, what else? The guests are clapping, leaning over the railing, using their phones to take pictures and videos as though nothing’s amiss.
Courtney and Mrs. Grady are posing for one of the… paparazzi.
I glance around, blinking, like I’ve stepped into another world.
There’s no air-conditioned lounge, no canopy, not even proper seating—just a few sun-bleached plastic chairs bolted to the deck and a table with a sticky red cooler serving as the “bar.” Behind it, a girl who looks about fifteen opens a soda with her teeth.
What happened to my yacht?
And now… Captain Julio is singing backup for Jimmy Buffett—off-key, and painfully loud—and half the guests clap along.
Luna throws her head back, laughing. Josie is filming. The twins are dancing with Babs.
The entire bridal party is eating it up.
Meanwhile, I can feel sweat sliding down the back of my neck, and the deck is already too hot to touch.
“Beckett,” I hiss. “This isn’t the boat.”
“We’ll complain to the agency later,” he says. “For now, I don’t think we have much choice but to just go with it.”
In that moment, his voice is the only thing that feels sane. Because how is this even happening?
“Okay,” I say quietly. Because I don’t have a choice. I have to pretend I’m not mortified, horrified, at the direction this party just took.
Beckett doesn’t say anything. He just shoots me a glance, then gives my hand a quick squeeze, like he knows I’m quietly freaking out but can do this anyway.
And now, I’m pretending again.
Only this time, I’m not sure where the pretending ends, and where Beckett and I begin…