Chapter 11
When the glass elevator let us out on the fourth floor, we opened the door to a spacious suite decorated in lively pastel colors boasting a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking a swimming pool so curvy, it almost resembled a lagoon.
There was a swim-up bar and tempting chaise lounge chairs everywhere, green and gray iguanas darting from one palm tree to the next, and the sounds of splashing and laughter rising up from the scene below.
I’d never been somewhere so gorgeous and tropical.
“It’s paradise,” I said to my mom, who flopped down onto the couch theatrically.
“Agreed, Pretty Girl,” she sighed, smiling. “It’s good here.”
“No,” I said. “Like, it’s excellent. Definitely the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“Man,” she mused. “I can’t believe Christmas was just yesterday.”
“Right? All that prep and planning, just to have it go by like that,” I agreed, snapping my fingers.
“The universe brought you a good gift,” she continued. “What would you call him? A rizz?”
I giggled. “Sort of. You’d say he’s got rizz. It’s short for charisma.”
“Right. Well I bet he’s packing about eight inches of rizz in his downstairs, know what I’m saying?”
At this, I exploded into laughter.
“What?” she asked, coyly. “I just want what’s best for you. Also, grandchildren. He looks like a solid sperm rocket.”
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Mom,” I said, popping the lock on the sliding glass door to the balcony and pulling it open. “Mmm. Feel that breeze?”
“Perfect place to fall in love with a handsome stranger,” Mom replied. “Now come on. Let’s get into our bathing suits and go get us a paper umbrella drink.”
So we did. We slathered on Hawaiian Tropic and made the room smell like coconuts.
I slid on my cutoff jean shorts, and she wrapped herself in a pink and orange sheer sarong that Santa had gifted her for Christmas.
Then I brought my book and she brought her AirPods, and we stretched out on chairs in a row that separated the pool from the beach.
In the sun, facing the cerulean water, we marveled at a cruise ship floating in the distance.
We luxuriated with twin pina coladas, which were readily available and way more over the top than anything we were accustomed to.
At some point, Mom fell asleep, so I cranked open the massive beach umbrella between us to create shade so she wouldn’t get burned.
I walked onto the stretch of sand just opposite the pool area and waded ankle-deep in the warm, Aruba water.
Traversing the hotel’s beachfront, I reached a bank of rocks before turning around to wade in the opposite direction.
I looked up at the hotel balconies, trying to figure out which of them belonged to our room—when I spotted Beckett. Rather, Beckett spotted me.
He was seated at a small round table on his balcony with a laptop open in front of him.
When I looked up, he waved. I raised a hand and returned the greeting, suddenly very aware of my untanned stomach and the way my two-piece bathing suit sat on my frame.
He motioned for me to come closer, so I walked with purpose back across the section with the chairs and past the edge of the swimming pool, narrowly avoiding being hit by a wayward beach ball.
In moments, I pulled up alongside the building, close enough to say hello without having to yell.
Beckett closed his laptop and stood up, hanging over the balcony’s edge to look down at me. “Hey,” he said.
I put my hand up to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun. Squinting, I said, “What are you up to? Writing?”
Beckett nodded. “Trying. It’s really hard to get in the zone when your body just wants to go outside and play.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you. I couldn’t come to a place like this and task myself with work.”
“Yeah. This may have been a mistake. Is it as glorious as it seems down there?”
“Well, I’m not a fair judge. I’ve already had a frosty adult beverage.”
“Have you?” He raised his eyebrows.
I nodded my head yes, grinning as if I just spilled some big secret.
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s resting over there,” I pointed.
“Well, good. She should relax. You think you’ll stay down there for a while?”
“I don’t see why not. I’m almost two thirds of the way through a book.”
“Ah. That’s the best part, usually. Whatcha reading?”
“It’s a romance novel. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Try me.”
“It’s called This Time Next Year,” I said. “It’s by Sophie Cousens.”
“And? Do you like it?”
“Actually, I like it so much that I read it every Christmas.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It came out a few years back. It was Sophie’s debut, same year as me. And it just skyrocketed. Mine, sadly, did not fare as well.”
“So do you read it for, like, research?”
“Nope. It’s just an excellent love story. It makes me happy. And it’s a story about New Year’s, and, like, superstitions around New Year’s. No spoilers, though. I don’t want to give anything away. It’s just good. Trust me.”
“Sounds like you have some unresolved feelings about New Year’s.”
I shrugged. “I like hopeful things,” I said, switching hands on my forehead. “New Year’s is a hopeful holiday. A chance to recommit to being your best self.”
“Can’t argue that. Hey, if you finish that book while you’re here, may I borrow it?” Beckett asked.
“Sure. As long as you promise to return it. It’s my favorite book. And it’s signed.”
“Understood.”
I cocked my head to the side, studying his face. “You’re really going to read a romance novel?”
“Yeah, why not?”
I shrugged. “I’m just surprised.”
“I’m interested. It must be good if you read it every year.”
“It is,” I agreed. “But, still. You’re a guy. Guys don’t read romance.”
He paused and shook his head slowly from side to side. A smirk danced across his face. “I want to know what you like,” he said. “And, I’ll be honest. I would download one of your books but I get a headache when I read on devices.”
I could feel my cheeks grow hot at the admission. “Well, okay then,” I said.
“How about this?” he proffered. “You go read, and I’ll put in another hour of work here. Then I’ll come down and hang out for a bit. Assuming that’s okay with you?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“And if you decide to leave instead, no worries.”
“Okay.”
“Cool. Hopefully I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
“Sounds good,” I said. Then, because it would be weird to just keep standing there remembering how it felt to have our fingers entangled on the airplane just hours earlier, I turned around and let him watch me walk away, praying that my ass looked good from the angle of a second floor balcony.
I guess my estrogen overload brought with it some sort of electric force field, because as soon as I sat down in my chair, Mom jostled awake. “Mm,” she said. “Shit. I fell asleep.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
She rolled onto her side to look at me. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar,” she mumbled.
“Fine. He saw me from his balcony.”
“Oh, okay. So you were just busy having a reverse Romeo and Juliet moment. I see,” Mom said, pointing her toes and stretching out like a cat.
“Romeo, Romeo,” she said, in her best attempt at a Shakespeare imitation.
She coughed a few times, a mucousy, infectious-sounding hack.
She sat back up and I reached over to pat her between the shoulder blades.
Finally, she grabbed a napkin and spit out a wad of thick, pink saliva.
“Sorry,” she said. “That’s gross. I guess I shouldn’t drink in the sun. ”
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Better now that I got that out.” She drew in a breath. I could hear a slight wheeze. She continued to catch her breath and clear her throat. Finally, she took a deep, cleansing breath. “I think it’s mudslide time.”
“Is it?”
“Most definitely. Excuse me, sir?” She flagged down a beach server. “Can we please have two mudslides?”
“Of course, miss. Can I just get your room number, please?”
“401,” I said. “And, can we please have some water as well?” I added.
“Of course,” the server replied. “Be back shortly.”
He left, and I turned to Mom. “You sure it’s a good idea to drink something thick like that?” I asked.
“I’m sure. To be honest, I haven’t been this relaxed in months.”
Our mudslides came, and we toasted. “To a beautiful vacation,” she declared.
We drank. I asked her to thin out the drink in her system by sipping some water, and she did.
We laughed. She didn’t cough again. Instead, she went back to listening to her AirPods and I returned to my book, happier than I had been in a long time.
Mom had dozed off again by the time Beckett appeared.
He was a sight to behold, entirely scrumptious in red board shorts and a faded gray T-shirt that clung to his upper arms for dear life.
He was careful not to wake her when he noticed she was asleep, motioning with a nod of his head that maybe we should go for a walk.
“Wow,” he commented when his bare feet touched the water’s edge. “The water’s amazing.”
“Right?”
“Seriously.”
“So, did you get much work done?” I asked, trying to tamp down the butterflies in my belly.
“No,” he admitted. “Not for lack of trying, though.”
“Remind me what your book is about?”
“Dysfunctional family. Father-son drama. That sort of thing.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Is it you?”
“Huh?”
“The main character. In this case, the son, I’m guessing. Is it you?”
He paused before responding, which was really all the answer I needed. “I guess, kind of,” he replied.