Chapter 24
It was time.
But that all changed once I arrived at the Aruba Ocean Villas.
It was an enclave set back from the road.
I was treated like royalty from the moment I stepped through the door.
A woman named Goldie handed me a map, an old-fashioned key on a key ring, and a small basket containing a small, cast-iron dish, a bread roll, a packet of raw sugar, a sachet of frankincense, and a box of matches.
“It’s customary, on New Year’s Day, to burn incense in your living space,” Goldie explained.
“Also, you must burn the bread and sugar.”
“Really?”
“Yes, absolutely. They are symbolic. This will ensure that you will always have bread on your table and a sweet, loving relationship in your life.”
“Oh. Well, okay then. It’s just, this is the first time I’ve ever been to a hotel that encourages you to set fires inside the room.” I laughed.
“You only need to burn a little of the bread and sugar, not the entire thing. And there is plenty of accessible water to put it out after. It is very important to us that our guests experience all the luck and prosperity our island has to offer.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.
We confirmed my 5:30 reservation at The Old Man and the Sea. “Just so you know,” Goldie said, “we all think this is incredibly romantic.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Me and the staff. There are many wedding engagements in our private dining at the restaurant, but this is extra sweet because you are only at the very beginning.”
“I hope she agrees with you,” I replied, shrugging.
“She will. Believe me,” she said. “I wish you both the very best for a memorable time.”
“Thank you.” I picked up my bag and followed the directions to my bungalow.
The thatched hut sat in the carefully combed sand.
It was built of wood and glass and had a small sitting area out front with magenta cushions.
Lush, tropical foliage surrounded the sides of the squat structure, and the door, a solid, carved teakwood piece of art in and of itself, was flanked by two climbing arrangements of pink flowers.
An oversized, decorative glass lantern sat beside one of them. I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
It was breathtaking.
The hut had a cathedral ceiling of dried palm from which a crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room.
Just behind it, a white canopy was strung up over the four-poster bed, which was lined with satin-covered throw pillows in rich shades of green, blue, and pink.
A fluffy, beige, thick pile shag area rug lay in front of the king-size bed, and more pillows of silver and gold lined the floor around the base of the bed.
The wood walls were stained the color of caramel, and sunlight poured through the windows, spilling lines of light across the furniture.
To the right, there was a two-person chaise made of driftwood with lush cushions, and to the left was a massive armoire that was so ornate it looked like it belonged in a museum.
A soaking tub for two sat in the corner, and beside it was a set of French doors opening to an indoor/outdoor bath.
The toilet was covered, the carved stone sink and vanity were shaded by a bamboo half ceiling, but the shower was open to the elements, the only natural shade provided by the leaves of a nearby palm tree.
Greenery flooded the outdoor bathroom space, and it took my breath away, possibly even more than the main indoor area.
Yes. This was the kind of space that Harmony deserved. This was the kind of memorable venue that our budding relationship deserved.
A bungalow called Joy.
It was just right.
I didn’t have time to revel in her, though, because I had to get back to the Marriott and pretend that we were in for another normal night at the square.
The taxi driver was kind enough to wait for me and take me back there. I rewarded him with a hefty tip. Upon my return, I found Harmony and her mom at the beach on the resort side (as opposed to the private island) and, as was typical for the middle of the afternoon, Harmony’s mom was having a nap.
“Hey, you,” I said in a low voice, kissing Harmony on top of her head.
She leaned her face up and gave me an upside-down kiss in her chair. “Hi,” she whispered, dog-earing her book and setting it in her bag.
“Walk?”
She nodded. I placed my things on her chair, and we strolled down to the water, hand in hand.
“How’s your day going?” I asked, trying to consciously sedate the mammoth butterflies that had decided to hatch in my belly.
“Good,” she said. “Even better now that you’re here.”
“First day of the new year,” I mused.
“Yup. If the next 364 days turn out as good as this one, it’ll be my best year yet.”
“Same,” I said, the surf splashing gently around my toes.
“So, did you get some good writing done today?”
“Not really. I told you, I’ve been distracted.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. It’s all good.”
She smiled.
“I’m surprised you aren’t on the island today,” I said.
“Right? Me, too. She said she wanted to stay on this side. I thought for sure she’d want to spend our last day over there.”
I grinned at the memory of our time in the spa cove. “It’s definitely a special place.”
Harmony was reading my mind, and I could tell by the gleam in her eye that she was remembering our evening there too. “This whole trip has been special.”
I squeezed her hand. “Hey, I need to ask you something.”
“What’s up?”
I looked down at our hands, how our fingers fit together in a way that was so natural and comfortable that it felt like something was missing if my hands were empty.
God, I was falling in love with this girl.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” I asked.
She laughed, and the sound caught on the breeze and rang in my head like a song. “We eat together every night. I should hope we’d eat together on our last night here.”
“I actually made us a special reservation.”
“Really? Where?”
“It’s in Savaneta, down island the other way—away from all the touristy stuff.”
“So, not in the square?”
“Not tonight.” I beamed at her. “Also, there’s something else.”
“Go on.”
“This one is for just us.”
“Without my mom?” Her forehead adopted a tiny crease between her eyebrows, signaling her disquiet.
“I already asked for her permission.”
“You did?”
I nodded.
“Well, she would say yes, though. She obviously likes you. She’s not going to put herself first,” Harmony said. “That’s my job.”
“I promise you. She said she’d order room service. I have something really special planned.”
Her mother told her the same thing when we returned to the lounge chairs. “You need to go,” her mom urged. “Believe me, Pretty Girl. You’ll thank me.”
Well. If there was any question as to whether or not this story was about me, that’s been fully resolved now.
I wipe my eyes at the reading of those two words on his pages.
I breathe deeply, flooded with the onslaught of memories of that whole evening.
It was the best and worst night of my life, and I’ve spent the past two years doing everything in my power to forget it ever happened.
Leave it to Beckett to write a goddamn transcription of it, immortalizing my mother in the text.
Pretty Girl.
I can feel my heart crumble.
I swallow.
Breathe.
Finally, I close my eyes and let it all in.
The thing is, I was nervous. I was already so head over heels for Beckett, there was always a tiny sliver of me that was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But it was more than that. There was also the anticipation of giving myself over to someone new.
I’d been burned so many times, hurt and cast aside, never quite good enough for Jason, or Matt, or any of the subsequent internet matches.
Not pretty enough, not smart enough. Missing that special something.
I was afraid that Beckett and I would cross that line and maybe he’d realize that he, too, could do better.
The pressing issue at hand, though, was my mom.
I hated the idea of leaving her alone for our last night in Aruba.
She gave me an earful in front of Beckett, but only later when we were alone in our room, as I was—almost begrudgingly—getting dressed, did she say the words that absolved me.
“Pretty Girl, I know you think you’re robbing me of something, heading off with Beckett for one night.
But, sweetheart, you’ve given up the chance to be alone with him for dinner every single night we’ve been here.
Imagine how guilty and selfish that makes me feel!
I want you to be happy, love. To have it all.
And this man makes you so happy. So, please, I beg you, go have a night with him.
Let it take you wherever it’s going to go, no curfew, no worries, nothing.
Consider it my gift to you. My blessing on your year to come. Can you do that for me?”
I remembered what she said in the spa about what it meant to her to be a mother. How she yearned to watch me chase my dreams, watch me fall in love, watch me find my happily-ever-after. I hung on every word. “Are you sure?” I asked.
Her smile gave me all the encouragement I needed. “Just be home by nine tomorrow. Our flight leaves at noon, so that should give us enough time to get to the airport.”
“I doubt I’ll stay in his room, but—”
“Hey. You’re a grown woman,” she reminded me. “Don’t put a limit on the joy you’re allowed to have. Live a little.”
She helped me curl my hair and pin it up in a waterfall braid around the crown of my head.
She loaned me her good mascara, the expensive stuff from London that she saved for special occasions.
She even pulled her cell phone out of her purse and snapped two photos before I headed out for the night: one of me alone in my white dress with the sweetheart neckline and the scalloped hem and a selfie of the two of us, grinning like teenagers before my big date with the most handsome guy in the world.
Then Mom gave me a hug. “Have all the fun,” she said.
“I love you,” I replied.
“Love you more, Pretty Girl,” she replied. “Now, off you go.”
Off I went.