10. Tyler
TYLER
An hour later, I am lounging on a pool chair, watching Ginger help Karl perfect his cannonball technique at the deep end of the resort's impressive indoor pool. Julian has abandoned me after approximately three minutes, eager to take advantage of the minimal line at the waterslide.
I can't help but admire how Ginger moves with natural grace through the water, her swimsuit highlighting curves that bulky sweaters had only hinted at. She catches me watching and pauses mid-demonstration, our eyes meeting across the distance. A flush that had nothing to do with the pool's warmth spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, a small smile plays at the corners of her mouth, acknowledgment and perhaps something more passing between us in that extended moment. She tucks a wet strand of auburn hair behind her ear, before turning back to Karl with exaggerated focus on his technique. But the quick glance she shoots in my direction seconds later tells me she remains acutely aware of my attention—and doesn’t entirely mind it.
Ginger is a natural with children, I observe—patient, encouraging, but not hovering. Karl is clearly thriving under her particular blend of independence and support. It makes me wonder how I am doing with Julian.
"Someone's looking pensive," a voice comments, interrupting my thoughts.
I glance up to see Olivia settling into the chair beside mine, impeccably made up despite the pool setting.
Her designer sunglasses perch on her head, and not a hair is out of place.
Her husband Edward trails behind her, looking somewhat uncomfortable in designer swim trunks that still had a price tag partially visible.
"Just enjoying the view," I reply noncommittally.
"I bet you are," Olivia says with a knowing smile, her gaze following mine to where Ginger was now demonstrating an impressively bad dive, making Karl howl with laughter. "You two make an unexpected but charming couple."
"Thank you, I think," I says, wary of Olivia's particular brand of friendly interrogation.
"Oh, it's definitely a compliment," she assures me, adjusting her cover-up. "After Amy, we all wondered if you'd ever date again. She did quite a number on you, from what I heard."
My shoulders snap back at the mention of my ex. "Ancient history." I reach for my water bottle, nearly knocking it over in the process.
"Of course," Olivia waves her manicured hand through the air, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light. "And you've moved on to better things. Though I must admit, I wouldn't have pegged you for the lottery winner type."
"The 'type'?" The words come out clipped as I lean forward in my chair, my fingers digging into the armrests. The poolside felt ten degrees warmer.
"You know what I mean," she continues, oblivious to my growing irritation. "New money versus old, different social circles, different... expectations."
"Olivia," Edward warns quietly, sensing my mood darkening.
"What? I'm saying they come from different worlds. It's an observation, not a criticism."
"An unnecessary one," I say flatly.
Olivia looks taken aback by my tone. "I didn't mean anything by it, Tyler. I think she's lovely. Refreshingly down-to-earth compared to some of the women you've dated."
"Some of the women I've dated?" I echo incredulously. "I've had one serious relationship since my divorce, and that who, I might add, was your friend first."
Olivia has the grace to look embarrassed. "Fair point."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's fine. Just... Ginger is off-limits for resort gossip, okay? She didn't ask to be thrust into this spotlight."
"Noted," Olivia nods, her expression thoughtful. "You care about her, don't you?"
The question catches me off guard. Did I care about Ginger?
The woman who made me laugh with her terrible skiing, who remembered how I took my coffee, who watched Princess Bride with such engrossed attention that she didn't notice popcorn falling down her shirt?
Who looked at me sometimes like she saw past all the trappings of wealth and status to the person underneath?
"Yes," I say simply. "I do."
Olivia smiles, softer and more genuine than her usual polished expressions. "Good. You deserve someone who makes you happy."
Before I can respond, a wave of water crashes over us, courtesy of Julian executing a perfect cannonball mere feet from our chairs.
"DAD! Did you see that? That was my best one yet!" he crows, oblivious to the impromptu shower he'd given us, water dripping from his hair like he'd appointed himself the pool's unofficial sprinkler system.
Olivia shrieks, dabbing at her now-soaked sundress, while Edward unsuccessfully tries to stifle his laughter.
"I saw," I confirm, fighting my own grin as I wipe chlorinated water from my face. "Though I think your aim needs work."
"Sorry, Mrs. Rawlins," Julian apologizes, not sounding remotely sorry.
"It's quite alright, Julian," Olivia says through gritted teeth. "I was leaving to change anyway."
She departs with as much dignity as a dripping wet socialite could muster—which was approximately that of a soggy peacock. Edward lingers a moment longer.
"She means well," he says, nodding toward his retreating wife. "In her own way."
"I know," I acknowledge. "Tell her no hard feelings."
He nods, then lowerers his voice conspiratorially. "For what it's worth, I think Ginger's great. Amy was... a lot."
I laugh, surprised by his candor. "That's one way of putting it."
With a friendly clap on my shoulder, Edward follows his wife, leaving me to ponder his words. It seems everyone had an opinion about my relationship with Ginger—everyone except me and Ginger, we keep dancing around the subject like it is radioactive.
"What was that about?" Ginger asks, approaching with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair is slicked back from the water, droplets clinging to her eyelashes. "Olivia looked like someone had insulted her designer flip-flops."
"Julian's cannonball had perfect comedic timing," I explain. "Her dress was collateral damage."
"Ah," Ginger nod. "The perils of poolside socializing."
"How's Karl doing with his aquatic education?"
"Mastering the art of the splash," she reports proudly. "He's a natural."
As if to demonstrate, Karl and Julian begin a splashing contest at the pool's edge, their shrieks of laughter echoing across the water.
"They're going to sleep well tonight," I observe, watching the boys' energetic display.
"Thank goodness," Ginger sigh, dropping onto the chair Olivia had vacated. "I need at least one night of uninterrupted sleep before we leave. They were up until 2 AM last night playing some ninja game."
"I thought I heard suspicious thumping," I muse. "Assumed it was resort ghosts."
"Just resort children with no concept of appropriate volume control," she corrects with a smile. "What were you and Olivia discussing so intensely? Resort gossip?"
I hesitate, unsure how much to share. "Sort of. She was expressing her... approval of our relationship."
"Ah," Ginger nod slowly. "The blessing of the social queen bee. Should I feel honored?"
"Ignore her," I advise. "I do, most of the time."
Ginger studies me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "It bothers you, doesn't it? What people think. What they assume about you because of your wealth."
Her perceptiveness was startling. "Sometimes," I admit. "People see the money first, me second. If at all."
"I get it now," she says softly. "The fake relationship—it wasn't about avoiding unwanted advances. It was about having someone see you as just... you."
I stare at her, speechless. How had she pinpointed so precisely what I hadn't acknowledged to myself?
"I'm right, aren't I?" she presses, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Maybe," I concede. "Though I could say the same about you. Suddenly wealthy, suddenly interesting to all sorts of people who wouldn't have given you a second glance before."
"Touché," she acknowledge. "I guess we're both hiding, in a way."
"Not anymore," I say before I could think better of it. "Not with each other, at least."
Her eyes widen, the implication of my words hanging between us. For a breathless moment, I think she might say something—something real, something beyond our carefully maintained charade.
Then a flood of water drenches us both as Karl and Julian, having formed an alliance, execute a coordinated splash attack.
"GOTCHA!" they yell in unison, dissolving into fits of giggles at our shocked expressions.
"Oh, it is ON," Ginger declares, leaping to her feet. "This means war, gentlemen!"
She charges into the pool with surprising speed, inciting a chase that soon had all four of us engaged in an elaborate water battle, complete with dramatic betrayals, temporary truces, and theatrical death scenes when someone was "defeated."
By the time we drag ourselves back to the suite, my limbs feel like lead and my fingertips had wrinkled into tiny topographic maps. Julian flops face-first onto the couch with a dramatic groan while Karl leaves wet footprints across the tile floor.
Ginger kneels before her son, rubbing his hair with a fluffy white towel. "Look at these fish fingers!" She wiggles his pruney digits, making him giggle. "We might have to throw you back in the water. You're turning into a merman."
My chest tightens as I watch them. Five days left.
I mentally scroll through my calendar for the next month, calculating the drive time between our cities.
Three hours and forty-two minutes, according to my last Google Maps search.
I could leave Friday after work, be there for dinner.
Weekend trips. Maybe holidays. My mind races ahead, plotting logistics, scanning for obstacles, planning how to ask for her real phone number, not the one we'd exchanged for our vacation charade.
I want to know what her kitchen looks like. If she sings in the shower. What books are on her nightstand. I want to be there when she checked her lottery ticket balance for the first time. I want Tuesday mornings and Sunday afternoons and everything in between.
The realization should terrify me, after everything with Amy. Instead, it feels like admitting something I'd known for days.
Now I have to figure out if Ginger feels the same way—and if she does, what the hell are we going to do about it when real life comes crashing back in.