10. Fresh Fruit and Futile Conversations
10
Fresh Fruit and Futile Conversations
Paige
Text Thread Between Tiffany and Vivian
Tiffany
Hey, Vivian, can you do me a favor and pass a message on to Paige for me? Tell her not to contact me anymore and that I hope whatever b.s. excuse she has for not showing up at my wedding was worth it.
Vivian
Wait. She didn’t show up?
Tiffany
Obviously you know she didn’t. She’s probably sitting across the room from you right now.
Vivian
She’s absolutely not here. The last time I heard from her she was in San Felipe, getting on a tiny charter plane to Azure Island. It was about two hours before your wedding.
Tiffany
Oh my God, please don’t tell me you’re falling for her lies. I’d bet on my husband’s life that she never left New York. She’s probably been sleeping at the office this entire time.
Vivian
No, seriously, Tiff. Something must have happened because she was definitely there.
Tiffany
You go ahead and believe what you want. I’m moving on with my life as a married woman.
Text from Vivian to Paige:
Vivian
Paige! Where are you??! Just got a text from Tiffany that you didn’t make it to the wedding. I’ve called your number but it just rings and rings. What’s going on? You okay?
One Hour Later
Vivian
Paige, please write me back. I’m worried about you. If you just decided to fly off with the super-hot pilot to live out your wildest fantasies, I totally get it. I wouldn’t want to go to your sister’s wedding either, not with the shit you get from your family. But seriously I need to know you’re safe.
One Hour Later
Vivian
Oh my God, I just had a horrible thought. What if you’re kidnapped? Are you kidnapped?
Just realized if you are kidnapped, you won’t be able to respond. Shit. What do I do? You’re the person I talk out emergencies with. Please be okay. Please call me or text me ASAP.
Two Hours Later
Vivian
I’m going to keep writing to update you, just in case you somehow get these messages. Just had a thought. Did you mean to write super sketchy pilot in a tiny, sexy plane? Not sure if that’s possible, but it would sort of make sense with the whole kidnapping angle.
Spoke with the San Felipe police. The woman on the phone suggested that if it was a kidnapping (which she highly doubts) that I could’ve been texting with the kidnapper. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he continue writing me back to prevent a search? Either way, they’re not going to look for you. They said you’d have to be missing for over 72 hours. I thought that seemed insane but she said on a beautiful island like theirs, people disappear all the time on purpose, so when it used to be 48 hours, they wasted thousands of taxpayers’ dollars searching for people who just decided to go up the mountain to camp or took an overnight trip on a sailboat. But believe me, I’ll be on their asses the second that the 72 hours from your last text is up.
And Now, Back to Our Heroine…
I wake with a smile on my face and a feeling of being utterly satisfied. Must be because I wasn’t woken by a call from Guy for the first time in over six years. I let out a happy sigh before it all hits me in one big wallop. The storm, the crash, the being stranded with a stranger. My stomach churns, and I’m overcome by an urgent need to get to Tiffany so I can explain. But I can’t do that. Not from here. Not right now. Eventually she’ll know the truth, but in the meantime, it kills me to know she’s somewhere assuming I didn’t care enough to show up for her big day. I am one-hundred-percent sure my family thinks I was lying, and that I never left New York. I should’ve sent photos along the way, documenting my trip, but it’s not as if I could’ve guessed that I’d be in a plane crash. The reality hits me again. I have no idea how close we came to dying, on account of being passed out by the time we actually hit the beach, but I feel certain it was so close, you could safely call it a ‘brush with death,’ which sounds so dramatic, no? If we ever get out of here, I can just picture myself telling anyone who will listen to my story about ‘the time I had a brush with death. I was in a plane that went down.’
Wow. I almost died, which has never happened to me before. Well, except anytime I’ve stepped out in front of a cab on 5th Avenue. That’s a ‘taking your life in your own hands’ situation because Will Ferrell was right when he said the yellow ones don’t stop.
I open my eyes, only to have them involuntarily close again. Good lord, it’s bright in here. And so, so hot. Someone turn down the sun. Speaking of hot, my mind leaps to Mac. Mac, who may not be who I thought he was. He’s not just some arrogant grump. He’s also got a softer side—feeding me a protein bar and making a bed for me so I could nap. He’s an outdoorsy guy who can make a fire, catch a fish, and cook it up to perfection. He’s the chivalrous man who gives up his bed for a woman who he barely knows. He’s all wrong for me, but there’s also something about him that just feels right. And it’s not just his body. It’s something else entirely.
I turn to face him, hoping to get a glimpse of him sleeping, perhaps shirtless on account of the heat.
Huh. He’s not there.
Standing up, I look out the window, expecting to see him nearby, but he’s not there either. I manage to wrangle myself into my bra without taking off my shirt. I’m still in yesterday’s outfit, but there’s no sense in changing into something fresh until I’ve had a chance to clean myself up. I slide my feet into my flip flops, then open the plane door and go outside to look for him. I walk up and down the beach, calling his name, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.
“Well, this is just great. He left me here.” I put my hands on my hips, panic starting to rise in my chest. Where would he have gone? What if he walked to the other side of the island and found a resort or something and decided to leave me behind? He could be sipping some fruity, boozy drink right now while I’m sweat-panicking. Without him, I have nothing to eat. I’m depending on him for everything , which is never advisable. Why didn’t I go to Girl Scouts as a child? Stupid Paige. Stupid.
Now I have to rely on a stranger—one who seems to have disappeared into thin air. Suddenly it occurs to me that I haven’t even tried to see if I can get a signal on my cell phone. I hurry back to the plane and grab it. It’s almost dead, and none of the bars are lit up, so I hold it up and walk along the beach, searching for higher ground. If I can get a signal, I’ll call 911, and they can trace my location.
Okay, this is good. I’ll be okay. Turns out I do know a thing or two about surviving. “Come on, come on…”
I climb the biggest rock I can find and hold my phone up, but get nothing. Not even one bar. I’m stuck here. I’m completely alone in this world. Not one person other than Mac knows where I am, and he’s gone. Desperation rushes through me like the tide crashing against the sand.
“Okay, calm down, Paige. The Mac you got to know yesterday would never leave you behind. You have to trust him. He must have a good reason for being gone. Maybe he found help, and he’ll be right back on a boat or in a helicopter to get you and take you to Azure Island.”
Am I seriously talking to myself already? Dear Lord, it’s going to take me about another two minutes before I draw a face on a coconut and name him Coco. Or Nutty. Nah, those are both crap names. I’ll have to come up with something better. Or nothing because drawing a face on a coconut would truly be the final nail in the coffin containing my sanity, wouldn’t it?
I find a shady spot under a palm tree and sit down, watching the white swells of water roll in while I wait. Mac’ll be here soon. He’ll come back. He’s not the type of man who would leave a woman to die. I hope…
It’s not long before I see him coming through the trees, his arms loaded with a greenish yellow fruit. “Good morning,” he says as he makes his way across the sandy beach to me. “How’d you sleep?”
Oh, thank God! I spring to my feet, wanting to kiss him on his gorgeous mouth, just for coming back. I hurry toward him, telling myself that I absolutely cannot kiss him. “Surprisingly well. How about you? Did you get any rest? ”
“Can’t complain,” he says, even though I’m sure most people would do exactly that. “We’re in luck. I found some star fruit.”
I reach out and take a couple of them from him to lighten the load a bit as we walk back to the plane. “The breakfast of champions.”
“It’ll give us some quick energy,” he says. “And we’re going to need it.”
My mind goes directly into the gutter, imagining all the ways we could use up the energy together, but then he says, “We’re going to head up the mountain.”
I stop and look up, my stomach dropping. “We are?”
He nods, looking excited. “I was doing some rough calculations when I got up. I can’t be sure but we might be on Valdez Island.”
“Would that be a good thing?”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing. It’s right next to Solisqui, which has a big marine research facility on it. If that’s the case, it would be directly on the opposite side of the island. We climb up and over, and if all goes well, we’ll be able to signal someone.”
“But should we leave the plane? What if someone spots it and they come to rescue us?”
Mac chews on his lip for a second. “I’ve thought about that. We leave a note detailing where we’re going.”
I stare up at the mountain that rises in the center of the island. It’s impossibly tall and dense with brush. The idea of climbing it is more than a little intimidating. I glance to the right, and notice that the plane is sitting near a sharp curve on the beach. “I don’t know. What if we try just walking around the bend to see what’s there? It’s flat, it’s literally just a few hundred yards, and who knows? Maybe there’s a village there or something?”
He shakes his head. “There aren’t any towns on any of the islands out here. It’ll just be more beach that way, and we’ll have wasted precious energy.”
“Okay,” I tell him, nodding. “Up it is.”
“It’s our best shot.”
Half an hour later, we’ve eaten, written a note, and Mac’s got a backpack on filled with water, protein bars, first aid supplies, matches, the flare gun, and a big knife. I’m dressed in a pair of shorts, an oversized tee, and some running shoes. I power off my cell phone and pocket it, just in case we can get a signal at the top of the mountain.
“You ready?” Mac asks.
Nodding, I do my best to seem confident, even though I have my doubts that I’ll be able to make it even halfway to the top.
He turns toward the trees and I follow him, wishing we were already there. It’s seriously hot as balls already and it’s still early morning.
“So, do you do a lot of hiking?” I ask him, huffing and puffing already, even though we’re still on the flat part of our walk. It’s sand, which makes it harder, but still, not huffing and puffing hard.
“Not really,” he says. “You?”
“Never. Unless you count taking the stairs to get in and out of the subway.”
“Yeah, I don’t count that.”
“Have you ever been to New York?”
“Nope. Not exactly my kind of place,” he says, adjusting the straps of his backpack.
We reach the trees, and he chooses a narrow opening to start the ascent into the shady jungle that immediately feels cooler than the beach. “Oh, you can’t say that if you’ve never been there. New York has something for everyone.”
“Not me. I’m not a city guy. Too many people. ”
Of course he’s not a city guy. That makes perfect sense. “It’s not just a city. It’s the city. The center of the universe. You can get anything you want there. You can see the best Broadway shows starring the biggest stars. Dine at the world’s finest restaurants. You can literally find anything you want to eat anytime, day or night.” My gaze lands on his butt, which is impressively round, even in his cargo shorts. Okay, stop staring at his great ass.
“I don’t need to eat anything I want twenty-four hours a day. I eat at normal meal times and sleep when it’s time to sleep,” he says. “I also don’t need to be surrounded by a bunch of maniac drivers, all in too much of a rush to care if they kill someone.”
I consider his words for a second. “Has anyone ever told you that you sound like an old man?”
He stops and turns. I expect him to be annoyed but he just gives me a satisfied smile. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“That’s because you haven’t figured life out yet. Old people know what’s important—a good night’s sleep, getting up early to start your day, cooking a meal with fresh ingredients from your garden.”
“You have a garden?” Of course he has a garden.
“Yup. I grow all kinds of veggies and herbs. I have mango and plum trees, and I just planted a dragon fruit tree, but it won’t bear fruit for a few years.”
“Wow, I would not have guessed that about you on spec.”
“What did you think I would have in my yard?”
“I don’t know, nothing. Like some weeds maybe. Or I suppose I would’ve thought you live in a loft-style apartment, the kind where you have a service elevator that opens directly into it and you ride your motorbike in and park it next to your sofa. ”
He stops and turns around, looking perplexed. “Geez, New York, it sounds as if you’ve been thinking a lot about me.”
I’m so irritated, I don’t look where I’m going and wind up tripping on a tree root. I fall forward and land with my face smushed against his abs and my hands on his chest. “Oof!”
Wow, humiliating. And sidenote: those are very hard abs.
He helps me stand up straight and gives me an amused grin. “You okay there?”
“Fine,” I tell him, fixing my hair a little.
“If you wanted to get a closer look, you could just ask.” Smirk. “I’d happily let you.”
Face flaming, I glare at him. “Your conceitedness knows no bounds.”
“Hey, I’m not the one copping a feel and spending God knows how long imagining my life,” he says, turning away and continuing on.
I make a growly face at his back, then say, “Obviously, that was an accident. And I haven’t been thinking about you. At all. I was going off the cuff just then, based on my limited knowledge of you.”
“I see. Well, your limited knowledge has led you to some wrong assumptions.”
“As generally happens when one’s knowledge is limited.”
“Fair point,” he says. “Well, allow me to set the record straight. I have a small house on a cliff overlooking the ocean with a big garden. You’d hate it because it’s quiet, there’s nowhere to shop, no restaurants—amazing or otherwise—and no plays to attend. It’s also on the rustic side, which I’m guessing isn’t your preferred decorating style, based on your makeup kit. ”
“Hey, that’s not?—”
“No, no,” he says, holding one finger up over his shoulder. “I’m not done yet. Most days, I pull my dinner from the sea—fish, lobster, crabs. I eat like a king for next to nothing, whereas I’m guessing you spend half your salary on takeout at one of the many amazing restaurants on every corner.”
I bristle a little. “Now who’s the one making assumptions?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I get takeout, sure, but only because I’m far too busy to cook. And it’s not half my salary. Not even close.” Although now that I think about it, I honestly have no clue what percentage of my salary I spend at A Taste of India every month. Or Starbucks. Or Gino’s Pizza. But it’s a lot.
“Ah, I stand corrected. Your life sounds like a dream come true. Rushing to and from the office, working for a total tyrant, dipping into coffee shops and restaurants to refuel, only to keep running until you drop into bed at night. But I’m sure you have lots of time to go see all those incredible Broadway shows with all the A-list stars.”
“Okay, so my job is demanding. That’s true, but it’s all going to be worth it.”
“I highly doubt that,” he says over his shoulder.
“God, you’re a know-it-all.”
“That’s because I’m wise beyond my years.”
“Exactly how old are you?” I ask. “Because I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got a Benjamin Button situation going on.”
“Thirty-four.”
“Thirty-four? So that’s your chronological age or do you mean your biological age?”
“Thirty-four and what the hell is the difference?”
“Chronological age is how long you’ve been alive. Biological age is an indicator of your lifespan based on lifestyle choices.”
“Jesus, what a bunch of nonsense,” he says, stepping over a tree root on our path. “Watch your step.”
“Thank you,” I say, then add, “And of course it would sound like a bunch of nonsense to someone who’s basically a boomer already.”
“Hey, the boomers have it right, if you ask me,” he says. “They know how to keep it simple and have a good time.”
“Oh please, they’re the only people on this planet who can afford to have a good time.”
“Meh, that’s what all you young folks say, but that’s just because you have your priorities all mixed up,” he answers.
“My God, how did I wind up stranded alone with the world’s most obnoxious man?”
“You mean wisest.”
“I mean wise ass,” I say, gripping my side to stop an oncoming cramp. “Of course you can think like a boomer. You charge twelve hundred dollars an hour and you live in a shack.”
“I’m not rich, but you don’t have to be if you don’t waste your money on crap you don’t need.”
“What? You’re assuming I’m some sort of shopaholic just because of where I live?”
“You’re forgetting I’ve seen your makeup kit.”
Sweat trickles down the middle of my back and my legs feel heavier by the second. I’m hot and tired and irritated and I just want to be at home snuggled up on my velvet sofa watching The Bachelor and sipping some chilled white wine with Vivian. Although if I were there, I’d want boozy hot chocolate on account of it being winter. “We’re back to that again, are we? Would it surprise you to know that the case was a gift from a client? ”
“Yes. And don’t bother telling me what you had to do to get it. I don’t want to know.”
Okay, that’s it. The jury’s back and it’s unanimous. He’s a total jackass. “Oh my God, I’m not a prostitute, if that’s what you’re implying. My boss did a campaign for Max Factor—which is the cosmetic company with the biggest ad budget in the world, I might add—and their director—a woman, by the way—gave it to me as a thank you for going above and beyond for them.” I take a deep breath, then keep going before he can answer. “And that useless makeup, as you call it, is necessary for me in my job. If you want to be taken seriously and climb the corporate ladder, you have to dress as if you’ve already made it. It’s not as easy as you’d think, you know. In fact, it’s hard as hell to be a woman in that business. You not only have to wow them with your intelligence and be twice as good as the men, but you have to look impeccable doing it.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It can be.”
He turns and gives me a long, hard look, and to be totally honest, I’m glad to be able to stop walking for a second. “So quit.”
Turning back, he starts up the mountain again, while I barely manage to stop myself from whining at the fact that I have to keep moving one foot in front of the other. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. It’s easy. Two words. ‘I’ and ‘quit.’ You put them together to form a complete sentence, and voila … freedom.”
“Not everyone has a skill they can charge an exorbitant amount of money for, work one hour a day, and then spend the rest of their time puttering in their garden or fishing.”
“I’m not rich, New York. Far from it. By the time I pay for insurance and maintenance and all the other fees to run my own business, there isn’t a hell of a lot left over,” he says. “But I don’t need more because I’m already?—”
“Living the good life, I know,” I answer, rolling my eyes at the back of his head.
“Yes, I am. And I’m sorry you’ve decided not to do the same, but it’s never too late to change your mind.”
I snort out a frustrated laugh.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that you’re quite possibly the most arrogant man I’ve ever met, and I’ve worked with Adam Levine.”
“Arrogant?”
“Yes, arrogant. Actually, no, not just arrogant. You’re a complete know-it-all. Thinking you know best how everyone else should live when really you don’t know anything at all about anything.”
“I know plenty.”
“Oh yeah? Then why are you alone?”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Steve.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I live alone because that’s how I like it,” he says firmly.
“Sounds like an excuse, if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t ask and it’s not an excuse,” Mac answers. “Now, it’s time to stop talking and pick up the pace. If we hurry, maybe we can even get rescued before sundown, so you won’t have to spend another night with the most arrogant man you’ve ever met.”
“The sooner the better.”
“At least we agree on one thing.”