34. Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Four
Annie
The rhythmic crash of the waves outside is the first thing I hear. It’s like a soothing background melody, blending with the faint rustling of palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sound of birds sending their calls into the morning.
The scent of salt and warm earth lingers in the air, mingling with the crisp, masculine scent of Cole on the pillows beside me.
I’m warm, comfortable—more comfortable than I’ve ever been in my life, wrapped in the softest sheets I’ve ever touched, cocooned in the lingering heat of last night.
Last night.
A lazy smile spreads across my lips as memories rush back, warming me from the inside out.
Cole’s hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. I can still hear the low rasp of his voice, the way he murmured filthy praises against my skin, made demands, took my body to places I didn’t know it could go.
How he held me afterward, stroking my hair like he had all the time in the world, and I was the most precious thing in it.
I sigh, shifting slightly under the covers, stretching my legs. Every inch of me feels deliciously sore, my muscles aching in ways I didn’t even know were possible.
I could stay here forever.
For once, I allow myself to indulge in that thought. To just exist in this moment, in this perfect bubble where there are no deadlines, no stress, no worries about the future.
Just this. Just the warmth of the bed, the scent of him clinging to my skin, the knowledge that, for now, nothing else matters.
Somewhere in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, I remember the press of Cole’s lips against my forehead, the deep murmur of his voice whispering, "Stay in bed. I'll take care of Robbie."
I’d barely had the energy to nod before he kissed me again—slow, lingering—then disappeared from the room, leaving me to drift back into sleep.
Now, though, I know I have to get up.
I need to shower, get dressed, go see Robbie. I need to act normal, like I’m not coming apart at the seams over the way Cole Wagner has completely consumed me.
Taking a chance, I pry my eyes open, blinking against the morning light as I push up onto my elbows.
And just like that, the world tilts violently .
A sharp wave of nausea punches me square in the gut, so sudden and forceful that I barely have time to react before I’m flinging myself over the edge of the bed. My stomach clenches, my throat burns, and I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard against the sickening churn rolling through me.
No, no, no.
I grip the sheets with trembling fingers, breathing through my nose, willing it to pass.
Not again.
My stomach lurches in protest, and I know I have exactly three seconds before I need to move—now.
I throw the sheets off me and stumble out of bed, heart pounding as I rush toward the bathroom. My bare feet hit the cool tile just as another violent wave rolls through me, and I barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving, gripping the porcelain edge like my life depends on it.
Tears prick at my eyes as my body trembles, emptying the little I have in my stomach. The smell of saltwater and Cole’s cologne still clinging to my skin, makes it worse.
When it’s finally over, I sag against the wall, my forehead resting against my forearm as I gasp for breath.
What the hell is going on with me?
The nausea had hit me hard on the plane yesterday, and I’d chalked it up to flying. Then I’d felt fine for most of the day, only to have it return again this morning, just as intense .
Was it something I ate?
Maybe it’s just exhaustion. My body catching up with me after the past few months of stress, the whirlwind of my life flipping upside down.
Maybe I just need to rest.
Yeah. That has to be it.
I force myself to sit up slowly, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, and stand up slowly, gripping the edge of the sink for balance. My body still feels shaky, my stomach uneasy, but at least the worst of it seems to be over.
I reach for a washcloth, wetting it with cool water before pressing it to my face. The sensation of the cold seeping into my overheated skin brings me back to myself.
After a few minutes, I feel stable enough to move again.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—wide blue eyes, flushed cheeks, hair a tousled mess from sleep and last night’s activities. I look… different. Not bad, just different. Softer, maybe.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
I’m fine.
Everything’s fine.
Shoving the lingering unease aside, I straighten my shoulders .
Time to shower, time to shake this off. The last thing I want is for Cole to take one look at me and know something’s wrong.
I don’t want him worrying.
***
The air is thick with the scent of grilled seafood, tropical fruit, and fresh bread as we weave through the crowded street. The sounds of lively music from a nearby café blend with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional call from vendors displaying their handmade crafts.
The sun is high, beating down on the colorful awnings shading the storefronts, and I find myself soaking in the warmth, grateful for the slow, easy day.
Robbie is practically vibrating with excitement, gripping my hand in one of his and Cole’s in the other. He’s been talking non-stop since we stepped off the boat, his little feet barely touching the ground as he hops between us, taking in everything around him.
“And then—did you see that boat? It was huge—like, way bigger than ours! And that guy was cutting up fish right there—right on the dock! Oh! Look, look, Annie, they’re selling coconuts! Can we get one? Dad, please?”
I glance at Cole over Robbie’s head, and he’s already looking at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. He smirks, shaking his head slightly before giving Robbie a small nod .
“Fine,” Cole says. “One coconut. But you have to actually drink the water.”
Robbie grins up at him. “Deal.”
We navigate through the crowd to the small stand where a man with dark, weathered skin and a bright smile is expertly hacking the tops off coconuts with a machete. Robbie watches with wide eyes as the man finishes prepping one and hands it to him with a straw sticking out.
“Thank you!” Robbie chirps, gripping it in both hands.
Cole lifts his brows at me. “Want one too?”
“Umm…” I consider my iffy stomach this morning. It’s fine now, but I’m still a bit worried. Coconut water shouldn’t hurt it, though. Right? “Yeah, I’ll have one too.”
Cole signals to the vendor, who swiftly chops the top off another coconut and hands it to me with a polite nod. I wrap my fingers around the cool, smooth shell and take a cautious sip through the straw. The coconut water is sweet, refreshing, and thankfully, it doesn’t immediately send my stomach into a tailspin.
I take out some cash, but Cole is already handing over a bill before I can argue.
“You always do that,” I say, nudging him lightly as we step away from the stand and continue down the street.
“Do what?”
“Pay before I can.”
He smirks. “I have faster reflexes—and more money.”
I roll my eyes but smile as I take another sip. Robbie is already drinking his with exaggerated gulps, clearly pleased with his choice. “It’s good, right?” I ask him.
He nods enthusiastically. “Way better than juice!”
Cole raises a brow. “That’s a bold statement.”
Robbie grins, his coconut nearly as big as his head. “It’s true!”
I laugh, shifting the coconut in my hands as we continue walking.
The street is alive with movement, bursts of laughter and chatter surrounding us.
A group of local musicians is set up outside a restaurant, their lively drumbeats and strumming guitars drawing a small crowd. People move in and out of the open-air shops, some carrying woven baskets filled with fresh fruit, others stopping to admire handmade jewelry laid out on wooden tables as merchants call out form their stalls, advertising everything under the sun.
It’s vibrant and beautiful, and I’m so grateful that the nausea from this morning didn’t last.
When Cole had suggested coming into town, I hadn’t been sure I’d be up for it, not after the way I felt when I woke up. But after a shower, some water, and a little time to shake it off, I’d started feeling better. Now, walking in the sun, with Robbie excitedly pointing out every new thing he sees, I can’t imagine missing this.
“Annie, look! This lady is making bracelets!”
I follow Robbie’s gaze to a small stand, where a woman is weaving delicate, colorful threads together, her hands moving quickly as she braids patterns into the thin strands.
“You want one?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yes!”
“Pick one out,” I tell him, leading him toward the stand.
Cole follows, standing close beside me, making me very aware of his presence.
Robbie’s eyes scan the dozens of bracelets laid out in neat rows, his little fingers hovering over a few before settling on one with shades of blue and green. “This one!”
The woman smiles, nodding approvingly as she takes the bracelet and ties it snugly around his wrist.
“Looks good, buddy,” Cole says.
Robbie beams, admiring it like it’s the coolest thing in the world.
I glance at the other bracelets, my fingers brushing over one with soft pinks and golds woven into the pattern.
Cole notices. “You want one too?”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly, pulling my hand back. “I was just looking.”
Cole doesn’t hesitate. He picks up the bracelet I was eyeing and hands it to the woman, who smiles knowingly as she gestures for my wrist.
“Cole, you don’t have to—”
“It’s just a bracelet, Annie,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
I sigh but let the woman tie it onto my wrist.
“Looks good on you,” Cole says, his voice quieter now.
I swallow, glancing up at him, and for a moment, I forget about the crowd around us.
Then Robbie tugs on my hand, breaking the moment. “Come on! I wanna see what’s next!”
I laugh, letting him pull me forward.
We spend the next hour wandering through the town, stopping to browse stalls filled with handcrafted goods, sampling fresh mango slices from a street vendor, and watching a few fishermen haul in their latest catch at the docks.
Robbie is in heaven, completely enthralled by everything.
At one point, he spots a man painting on a large canvas set up in the middle of the street. The artist moves with quick, confident strokes, blending vibrant blues and greens to create a breathtaking seascape .
I feel Cole watching me as I admire the painting, my fingers twitching slightly.
“Thinking about getting back into it?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I bite my lip, hesitating. “Maybe.”
He doesn’t push, but I can feel the weight of his attention. He’s watching me—really watching—like he’s waiting for me to let him in.
Before I can say anything else, Robbie tugs on my arm again.
“Can we get ice cream?” he asks, tilting his head up at Cole.
Cole smirks. “You just had half a coconut.”
“Yeah, but that’s not ice cream.”
I chuckle. “He’s got a point.”
Cole sighs, pretending to be exasperated, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. “Fine. But if you get ice cream, no complaining later that your stomach hurts.”
“I won’t!” Robbie promises.
We find a small shop with a display case full of bright, tropical flavors—mango, coconut, passion fruit, and a few others I don’t even recognize. Robbie picks mango, and I go for coconut.
Cole, of course, says he’s not getting anything but ends up stealing bites from both of ours .
We sit on a bench, watching the town move around us as we eat. Robbie chatters between spoonfuls, and I find myself stealing glances at Cole, the easy way he leans back, the way he listens to Robbie with a small smile playing on his lips.
“Hey,” I say at a break in their chatter. “I’ve got to hunt down a restroom.”
Cole glances at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, laughing lightly. “Just a little too much coconut water and ice cream.”
I stand, brushing off my dress, and glance around, scanning for signs. There’s a small café down the street with an open doorway, the warm scent of coffee and baked goods drifting into the air.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them.
Cole nods and turns his attention back to Robbie, who is focused on his ice cream, and waves me off.
As I weave through the small crowd, I take slow, measured breaths, trying to keep the lingering queasiness at bay. It’s mostly gone now, but every so often, I get a little wave of discomfort, like my stomach can’t decide if it’s completely on board with the day’s events.
Too much ice cream, I guess.
Inside the café, the air is cooler, the fans overhead stirring the scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries. The line at the counter is short, and a chalkboard menu hangs above, listing drinks and food in casual, handwritten script .
I spot the bathroom sign near the back and make my way there quickly.
Once inside, I lean against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath. I catch my reflection in the mirror—slightly flushed from the heat, strands of hair sticking to my temples.
I shake my head at myself. “Get it together, Annie,” I mumble.
Turning on the faucet, I splash cool water on my face, letting the chill ease some of the lingering nausea. I take a few deep breaths, pressing my fingers against my temples.
“Too much ice cream. Just too much ice cream,” I murmur to myself, trying to push away the nagging thought that it’s not just that.
I grip the edges of the sink, swallowing against the unease curling in my stomach.
No. It’s nothing. Maybe the heat, maybe the change in food. Traveling can throw your body out of sync, right?
Still, something feels… off.
I press a hand lightly against my stomach. It’s not just nausea. There’s a heaviness there, a strange awareness of my own body that I can’t shake.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t do this, Annie. Don’t spiral.
Forcing myself to take another steadying breath, I stand up straight, smooth my dress, and decide to shake it off.
Whatever this is, it’ ll pass.
I push open the bathroom door and step back into the café, the scent of coffee and fresh bread wrapping around me again. The hum of conversation blends with the occasional clang of dishes behind the counter, but I barely register it as I make my way toward the exit.
The moment I step outside, the sun hits me full force, the heat instantly sinking into my skin. The street is still bustling, vendors calling out to tourists, the rhythmic strumming of a guitar echoing from a café nearby. I take a steadying breath, shaking off the lingering unease from earlier.
Cole and Robbie are still sitting on the bench down the street where I left them, Robbie swinging his legs as he chats animatedly, probably about something he saw today. Cole listens, one arm resting across the back of the bench, his expression relaxed.
I exhale slowly. Everything is fine.
But then, as I start walking toward them, something catches my eye.
A small storefront a few steps ahead. White and blue signage. A green cross hanging above the door.
A pharmacy.
I slow down instinctively, my pulse stuttering.
My palms feel clammy, my throat suddenly dry. My feet frozen to the sidewalk.
I glance toward Cole and Robbie again. Neither of them is looking my way.
Before I can overthink it, I push open the door and step inside.