Chapter 2
My visibly relieved seatmate breaks out into a rousing round of applause when the plane lands. A few other passengers join in, their voices blending with the excitement, yelling out things about shots of tequila and buckets of Coronas.
“What do we do now?” The poor girl looks so overwhelmed as the realization of where she is has hit her.
“We go through Customs.”
“Will my passport get stamped?” she asks, hopeful.
“Yup. You’ll get your very first stamp.”
She beams, her excitement evident. “Then what?”
“Then we go to the luggage carrousel to get our suitcases,” I explain over the noise of the passengers getting their carry-ons out of the overhead compartments growing louder around us.
“Where is that?”
Tour guiding at the Cancun airport wasn’t on my to-do list today, but I can’t leave this girl alone. Even if she manages to navigate through Customs and figures out where to find her suitcase—the Timeshare salespeople will swarm her before she makes it out of the building.
“Stay with me. I’ll get you where you need to go.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen with a mix of gratitude and relief. “You don’t mind?”
“Sure. It’s fine.” I better get some karma and heaven points for my good deed.
She smiles appreciatively. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I sling my hobo bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Nice move, Wicked Temptation,” my other seatmate whispers in my ear.
“Divider is still up,” I remind him with a stern glare. “Stay clear of my personal space.”
“Okay.” Raising his hands in surrender, he takes a half-step back with an amused smirk.
We stand in awkward silence as we wait for our suitcases to emerge from the luggage chute. Wide-eyed, she absorbs the bustling surroundings, soaking in the sights and sounds.
“By the way, my name is Lily,” she says, extending her hand towards me.
“Tess,” I say politely and shake her hand.
“Thanks again, Tess.”
“It’s no problem.”
She scans the crowd of people gathered around the luggage carousel. “Oh look, there’s the guy you sat next to on the plane. He was so funny. Want to say hi?”
“To that idiot? Absolutely not.”
She waves in his direction. “Have a nice vacation,” she yells across the room.
“Thanks. You too,” he shouts back, his eyes connecting with mine as he raises a quizzical eyebrow.
I roll my eyes, shake my head, and turn away to avoid any further interaction.
“I don’t think he’s really an Air Marshal,” Lily tells me.
“Yeah. No,” I reply. “He’s a pain in the ass, though.”
“And he’s cute,” she says coyly.
“Hadn’t noticed.”
I had.
The guy ticks all my boxes. A five o’clock shadow that’s pushing hour six, dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes, an athletic build… penis… then he opened his big mouth and flattened those boxes like the day after moving day.
“It’s really crowded in here.” She twists her neck in both directions, observing the chaotic sea of visitors.
“It’s a popular tourist spot.”
“Just think—people from all over the world traveled all this way to vacation in the same place as us. It’s amazing.”
I suppress a laugh. This girl must be the sole survivor on Sheltered Island.
“Where exactly are you from?” I ask.
“South Jersey.”
“People from all over the world are in New Jersey too,” I say.
“I know. But it’s different. No matter where you started, we all came here for the same reason.”
“To drink ourselves into oblivion?”
She shakes her head, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “To escape.”
I draw in a deep breath, and my stomach sinks to the ground. That was pretty insightful—she’s more perceptive than I gave her credit for.
“There’s my suitcase,” I point out, changing the subject.
After snagging our suitcases, I watch in amusement as Lily’s face turns bright red when a Mexican Customs agent randomly chooses her for a hand-checked luggage inspection.
Once they’re done, she gathers up her suitcase and dignity, and we push through the swarm of Timeshare salespeople. Their voices blend into a chaotic chorus of offers and shady promises—most of them claiming they’re our ride to the hotel.
The automatic sliding glass doors exiting the airport open, and a wave of intense tropical heat and humidity smacks me in the face. It’s like being slapped with a clammy gym towel. I forgot just how sweltering hot Mexico can be. The gentle breeze feels like an overheated dog panting in my face.
Lily’s golden-brown hair puffs out like a Pomeranian on steroids. Humidity can do some crazy things to hair, but this is on a whole new level of instantaneous frizz.
As we wade through the sea of people looking for their rides, the redhead who nearly beheaded me glides past us, engrossed in a conversation on her cell phone. Her hair is perfect, even in this humidity, and her porcelain skin glows.
“Have a nice trip, Coco.” Lily waves as she passes by.
The redhead stops, tilting her head to study Lily. She nods politely and gives her an index finger wiggle wave. “Same to you, hun,” she says before continuing on. She approaches a man holding a sign with her name on it.
Coco Mercier.
That name rings a bell.
The man takes her bags, and they head towards a line of luxury cars and vans.
“Do you know her?” I ask Lily.
“We chatted while we were waiting to board the plane at Newark airport. She’s nice,” Lily responds.
Yeah. Nice and bitchy.
“She should’ve flown here on her broomstick,” I mutter, scanning the row of minivans and cars. “Do you need a taxi?”
“My hotel provides transportation for guests. I’m supposed to look for a sign with their name on it.”
“Alright. Where are you staying?”
“The El Corazón del Sol Hotel and Spa in the Riviera Maya. It’s an adults-only all-inclusive resort.”
“You’re kidding,” I say in disbelief.
“No, why?” Lily asks.
“That’s where I’m staying too. Come with me. I see their sign.”
Lily’s face lights up with excitement. “Can I have the window seat?” she asks enthusiastically.
“Sure.”
The drive to our hotel is a scenic thirty-minute journey. As we step into the passenger van, the faint scent of pi?a colada-scented air freshener fills my nostrils. The small overhead screen at the vehicle’s forefront displays a video showcasing tours and luxurious amenities our resort offers.
At an additional price. Of course.
The video keeps my seatmate captivated, sparing me from the barrage of questions that I know are swirling in her overstimulated mind.
As our driver turns in from the main highway into the resort’s vast property, a security guard opens a gate and waves us in. We drive along a street bursting with impressively lush tropical foliage. Majestic coconut and palm trees line the road as we proceed toward the main entrance of the building.
“Look at the size of that!” Excitement bubbles within Lily. She grabs my arm, pointing toward the shoulder of the road with enthusiasm. “This is so cool.”
Following her gaze, I catch sight of an iguana sunning lazily on a colossal rock. That sucker is the size of a baby alligator.
“As long as Godzilla stays on that rock, I’m good,” I tell her.
We arrive at the entrance of the hotel, marked by an impressive stone fountain. The hacienda-style open-air lobby beckons us with its grandeur. My eyes are drawn to the massive Talavera flower pots, bursting with vibrant hues of dark blues and light greens. They overflow with hibiscus, elephant ears, and other showy flowers in shades of red and yellow.
Peering further into the lobby, I’m awestruck by its spaciousness and elegance. The polished beige marble floors display a coolness, while the dark forged iron chandeliers radiate a warm, ambient glow.
It’s stunning. There’s no other word—simply stunning. For once, the management’s online pictures accurately portray the hotel’s beauty.
Lily’s face lights up. “This place is gorgeous!” she exclaims, unable to contain her excitement.
“It is.” I agree, taking in the gleaming marble floors and the mahogany desks at the check-in area.
We disembark from the van alongside our fellow guests who are eager to peel out of their sweaty travel clothes, slip into bathing suits, and dive into their long-awaited vacations. Most of the other guests have already got a head-start on getting their buzz on from the “almost free” beer our driver sold from a cooler beside his seat.
Everybody’s got a side hustle these days.
“Gracias.” I slip a crisp ten-dollar bill into the driver’s hand as he unloads my luggage from the van. The aroma of the ocean breeze fills the air as he parks my belongings with the other guests’ suitcases at the bellhop stand. Technically, tips are included in the price of this all-inclusive resort, including the van ride, but having worked in the service industry during college, I understand all the nonsense they deal with. They’re not getting paid nearly enough.
Even with their side gigs.
Upon entering the open-air lobby, two women in white dress uniforms greet us, each holding a tray adorned with champagne flutes. “Champagne cocktail, se?orita?” one of them offers.
Hell yeah!
“Sí, gracias,” I answer politely, taking a glass from the tray. I turn to Lily. “Do you think you’re good now?”
Lily nods, her eyes shimmering with enthusiasm. “Thanks for your help, Tess. I hope I’ll see you around.”
“We’ll see. Have a nice vacation.”
“You too.” She nods, enjoying a sip of her cocktail.
I leave her to her belongings and head towards an available check-in desk. It’s time to get my vacation started.
“Buenas tardes. My name is Jorge,” a middle-aged gentleman sitting at the mahogany desk introduces himself, extending his hand as he gestures for me to sit in one of the plush chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat,” he says with a thick Spanish accent.
“Oh, thank you.” I take a seat, retrieve a printout of my reservation from my handbag, and hand it to him. “Here you go.”
“Gracias,” he smiles kindly, his eyes scanning the document. “Se?orita Harper.” He types my name into the computer, his brow furrowing slightly as he reads something. Composing himself, he casts a sympathetic gaze in my direction. “May I make a copy of your passport and credit card for any incidentals you may wish to purchase at the gift shop or spa?”
I can only guess what he’s read on my confirmation, but he remains professional, making no mention of it.
“Sure. Here.” I hand over my credit card and passport. As he scans my documents, my gaze drifts to a framed photograph of his family on the desk. Jorge, his wife, two girls, and a boy in a candid moment. “You have a beautiful family.”
“Gracias. Mis amores,” he says, returning my identification and travel documents to me. “Have you been here before?”
“No, but if the rest of this place is half as nice as this lobby, it could be my new home,” I joke, taking in the pleasant aroma that fills the air. “And it smells wonderful in here. What’s that fragrance called?”
“Love, se?orita,” he nods knowingly. “At El Corazón del Sol—Love is always in the air.”
I chuckle softly. “Well, Jorge, in my personal experience, love stinks.”
“You have not yet experienced love in Mexico, have you?” Jorge asks, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“No, and I won’t be. I’m here solo,” I reply, a hint of skepticism in my voice.
“Perhaps not for long, se?orita Harper,” Jorge says, raising a playful brow.
Did my mother get to him? I wouldn’t put it past her.
“No, no, no.” I wave him off, trying to hide my amusement. “No romance for this muchacha,” I say, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood and make this awkward situation tolerable.
“El que busca encuentra,” Jorge says, tapping the silver bell on his desk. The sound resonates softly, catching the attention of the nearby bellhop.
“What does that mean?”
“If you search, you will find,” he explains. He motions for the bellhop to approach, who promptly makes his way towards us.
“The only thing I’m searching for while I’m here is a shady palm tree and an endless supply of cocktails,” I joke.
“You will find that as well,” Jorge assures me, his laughter genuine and warm.
“Then we’re good.”
“Habitación trescientos veintidós,” Jorge instructs the bellhop, handing him the keycards to my room. His attention shifts back to me. “You are in room three twenty-two. It’s our best room.”
“I bet you say that about all your rooms,” I tease, a playful smirk on my face.
“Sí. They’re all the best.” His grin widens. “Luis will take you and your luggage to your room.” Jorge stands, offering his hand to me.
“Thank you, Jorge,” I say, pushing back my chair and rising to my feet.
“De nada. My pleasure.”
“Have a good rest of your day,” I bid him farewell as we shake hands.
“Gracias,” he nods briefly. “You as well.”
I turn away from the desk and step towards Luis, who is patiently waiting for me.
“Se?orita Harper?” Jorge calls out.
I turn back and face him. “Yes?”
“Welcome home.”