Chapter 5
FIVE
Meadow
The salty island air caresses my skin as the shuttle door hisses open. My eyes are instantly flooded with various shades of blue, bright notes of coral and green, and other colors too vivid to name.
I have to remind myself to step out of the van, or I'll sit here in awe all day. The moment my feet hit pale stone, I inhale the summery scent of sunscreen, coconut, and sweet hibiscus blown in by the breeze.
“Welcome to beautiful Costa Cay,” our driver beams, sweeping an arm toward the grand entrance.
The stone path is lined with lush greenery, leading to the lobby, which is framed in glass.
Beyond the massive windows lies the ocean, a long stretch of white sand and turquoise water that sparkles beneath the sun.
Seagulls glide through the sky as palm trees gently rock back and forth, dancing in tune with the soft waves.
A group of steel drum players sits outside the lobby, where the melody of Is This Love by Bob Marley drifts in, a song that always feels like summer.
This is the definition of paradise , I think to myself.
I feel like I’ve just stepped into a movie set. It doesn't even feel real.
“Holy…” Owen trails off beside me, running his fingers through his hair. “Look at this place.”
“I know,” I shake my head in amazement, my voice breathless. “This is unbelievable.”
I try to convince myself that the view is the sole reason I’m feeling all giddy and fluttery inside, not because Owen’s shoulder and forearm keep finding mine since we boarded the flight.
We’ve been friends for years, yet we’ve never touched as much as we have today. I remind myself not to overthink it because they’re the kind of accidental touches that happen when two people travel together. It means nothing.
“We made it, Meadow.” Owen blows out a breath, the corner of his mouth curving up as he slings an arm around my neck, pulling me in like we’re a couple of old pals. “We escaped Chicago’s frozen hellscape.”
“Barely,” I joke, nudging his hip with mine. “I think my toes are still trying to defrost.”
Heat rolls down my spine at how the sides of our bodies are plastered together. Owen’s been so touchy-feely with me today. If he gets any friendlier, I might burst into flames before we get checked in.
All of my senses feel heightened, like I was bitten by a vampire straight out of Twilight .
I’m hyper aware of the little things—my ponytail tugging at my scalp, the hidden ring brushing against my belly, a bead of sweat rolling down my back, and the delicious blend of cinnamon and leather clinging to Owen’s skin.
It’s all-consuming and thrilling at the same time.
Like me, Owen’s still in his travel clothes—a t-shirt and joggers that he somehow makes look hotter than a suit and tie. The dri-fit fabric clings to his chest and shoulders, showing off every corded muscle with the slightest movement.
And his pants… Don’t even get me started. I have to force my eyes to stay above his waistline due to the way they hang mouth-wateringly low on his hips. I hate him for making travel clothes look this good.
I tear my gaze away when a bellhop appears out of nowhere, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brooks? I’m Benji. May I take your luggage?”
Mrs. Brooks.
Both of us go still, completely caught off guard. My brain short-circuits at the words Mrs. Brooks , and I swear my knees almost give out beneath me. I glance at Owen, who’s looking at me through furrowed brows.
The air between us tightens, charged with something that’s far from humor.
The emotion etched across Owen’s face is a quiet apology, as if he knows how awkward this misunderstanding must be for me.
Even though the thought of us being married is unfathomable, I stupidly let myself imagine it.
I picture his last name attached to mine and his ring forever on my finger. I see us tangled in sheets at the end of a long day, drifting to sleep with his arms locked around me. I imagine waking up next to him and pressing lazy kisses along his naked chest.
God, I have to stop this.
Every time I let myself slip into this fantasy, I chip away another piece of my sanity.
Before I can choke out a correction, Owen clears his throat and responds to Benji.
“Yeah,” he says easily, pulling me against him with his arm still around my shoulders. “That’s us.”
Holy. Shit.
Us?
His words knock the breath from my lungs.
“Wonderful,” the bellhop beams. “We’ll be sure to take great care of your things.”
Benji’s voice cuts through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. He’s already stacking our luggage onto the cart as I try to force away the delusional thoughts eating away at my brain.
As Benji loads the last of our luggage, Owen leans in close enough that I feel his breath graze my temple. His voice dips low, meant only for me, sending a sensual chill down my spine.
“You good?” he breathes. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, Mrs. Brooks .”
Fuck.
The way he says it—deep and gravelly—has my nipples tightening against my bra, my throat going dry as I picture him murmuring Mrs. Brooks with me beneath his hard body. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to God that I didn’t accidentally moan out loud at the thought.
I manage to push out a shaky laugh that I’m sure sounds forced.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, waving a hand like it's no big deal. “Just wasn’t prepared to be promoted to Mrs. Brooks before lunch. Should’ve worn something cuter,” I joke, looking down at my sweatshirt and leggings.
I expect him to laugh, to tease me like he always does, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his expression shifts to something more serious as the lines of his face soften and his eyes sweep over my face. His smile fades as his gaze holds mine.
“You look great, Meadow,” he replies, voice thick. “You always do.”
My pulse stutters so violently that I’m shocked I don’t go into cardiac arrest. I try to hold onto my laid-back smile, but it wobbles the instant the words leave his mouth. Because how am I supposed to play it cool when Owen says things like that, as if he actually means every word?
Before I have a chance to catch my breath, Benji reappears with a bright smile.
“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. Let’s get you two checked in.”
The moment shatters, drifting away as Owen steps forward to follow Benji to the lobby. I coax my feet to move, trailing after him toward the reception desk and leaving a piece of my pride on the stone path.
“Whoa,” I gasp, as the door swings open.
I expected the room to be nice, but damn . This is like something out of a travel magazine spread.
The middle of the suite is an open living space with vaulted wood beams and a bamboo ceiling fan gently whirling cool air around the bright room.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcase the balcony that spans the entire length of the suite.
Beyond the railing, the resort drops down in neat tiers of tropical greenery and stone before meeting the shoreline.
The living area is decorated in sandy neutrals, with two sofas in an L-shape across a woven rug.
Two doors sit on the left and right of the suite, which I assume are the bedrooms. A small dining table and kitchenette are set up behind the sofas with a neat row of glasses and a fancy-looking coffee machine.
“Shit,” Owen blows out an impressed breath. “Not too shabby, huh?”
“Um… Understatement of the year,” I mutter, turning a slow circle. “Owen… this is incredible.”
I can feel Owen watching me as I take everything in. When I finally turn to face him, his eyes are focused on me, a gorgeous grin spreading across his face.
“You like it?” he asks.
“Do I like it?” I deadpan, giving him a look. “I freaking love it.”
My gaze flicks toward the two doors. “And we both have our own rooms? Wait, why did you book two when this trip was supposed to be for you and your girlfriend?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and guilt twinges in my chest.
Great.
Way to bring up his ex, Meadow…
He clears his throat and gestures toward the doors.
“Yeah. Two bedrooms,” he nods, voice a little rough. “But we do have to share a bathroom; I hope you don’t mind. You can take the master since it’s the one with the en suite. I’m sure you’ll be spending more time in there anyway.”
He hesitates, clearing his throat before continuing.
“I uh… I originally only booked one room,” he admits. “But when you said yes, I upgraded. I figured it’d be better this way.”
His tone is a bit shy, like he’s worried he overstepped, or maybe the thought of sharing a room with me was too much for him to process.
I hadn’t let myself ask what the sleeping situation would be because, honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Apparently, he’d thought it through so I didn’t have to.
But still, I can’t stop my mind from wandering about what it would’ve been like if we had been forced to share a bed. His body a breath away from mine all night.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “Owen, this suite must have cost—”
“Meadow.” He lowers his gaze so he’s staring directly into my eyes. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I got the wedding guest discount, remember? And…” he stammers, his eyes darting away before returning to me. “I wanted you to feel comfortable.”
Comfortable.
The word lands somewhere between thankful and dangerous. I want to tell him I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness, but also, the unhinged part of me wanted there to be only one bed. A rare situation where we would be forced to face the one-sided tension between us.
I want to tell him that the relief I feel is almost indistinguishable from disappointment.
Like always, I decide to play it safe.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “Really. This is so nice.”
His eyes dart between mine as an easy smile curves his lips.
“Thank you for coming, Meadow,” he replies. “I’m glad you’re here. And if I’m being honest, I’m a hell of a lot happier it's you here instead of my ex.”