Chapter 2
BEN
I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m the kind of guy who overpacks for a weeklong trip and still forgets the essentials.
In this case, it’s hitting me that I may have forgotten my bathing suit.
And definitely toothpaste. Hopefully not the dress shirt I need to wear for the wedding I’m attending in a few days.
The shuttle ride from the airport takes forty-five minutes.
I spend twenty of them searching on my phone if one can die from too much humidity, and the rest leaning toward the front of the van so that the AC vent hits me directly in the chest. Outside, the trees are green and lush and the sky is smugly cloudless.
It’s the complete opposite of the cold, gray scenery I left behind.
“Bienvenido,” the driver, who introduced himself as Miguel, says as he pulls up to the front of the resort and pops the trunk.
It’s an enormous cream-colored building and there’s hundreds of people moving about in their resort wear, smiling and laughing and enjoying the warm weather.
The lobby is an open-air massive room, with a handful of reception desks and a full bar on one end.
There’s a high ceiling with fans lazily turning overhead, a water feature with actual fish in it, and music playing that sounds like it was scientifically designed to slow your resting heart rate.
I scroll through my texts while I wait in line to check in.
There’s nothing urgent. My boss sent me a thumbs-up emoji in response to my reminder that I will be out of office this week.
My mom liked an Instagram post from two weeks ago.
My most recent situationship has left me on read. Par for the course.
“Hi,” the concierge says. Her smile is ear to ear in a very customer service way. I’m so used to this that sometimes it doesn’t even register. “Welcome to Caribbean Splendor. Name?”
“Ben Kingston. I’m with the Grosso / Sanz wedding block.”
The receptionist lights up. “Yes! Of course. Welcome. You’re one of the groomsmen?”
“Oh—no. Just a work friend.”
She types something into the computer, and I brace myself for a room mix-up, but she just smiles. “Your room will be ready in about thirty minutes. Would you like a welcome drink?”
“God, yes.”
She laughs and hands me a laminated card with the resort map, a wristband, and what I think is a coupon for a ten-minute massage by the beach. I take my stuff and wander to the bar across the lobby.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the place is already buzzing.
Not crazy—but enough to make me feel like I’ve arrived late to something.
There’s a group at a high table with matching tote bags that say Brunch, Booze & Bekah who all woo at the same time and then follow that with a shot of something clear.
Outside, the brightness punches me in the face.
There’s too much sun, too many colors, too many noises. The music has shifted significantly, and I can clearly discern Christmas carols in the air, even though the weather and the setting don’t immediately scream Christmas to me.
I order a mojito from the poolside bar and lean against a palm tree, pretending to casually take in the scenery like someone who’s not deeply aware of how solo I look.
I don’t mind being alone, not usually. I travel significantly for work as a corporate consultant.
I eat alone in restaurants more often than not.
But there’s something about being alone on purpose that feels different.
Like everyone else is here to celebrate something, and I just showed up because I didn’t have a better plan.
Still, the drink is good.
I walk a slow loop around the pool. There’s a foam party starting in the far end, couples sunbathing in the middle, and a woman attempting to read a book while a nearby speaker blasts reggaeton at full volume.
“Kingston!”
I turn, startled, and there he is—Jaime, the groom, looking way too tan for a man who spends fourteen hours a day stuck in an office.
He’s in swim trunks and mirrored sunglasses, holding a beer like it’s a trophy.
Two guys I don’t recognize flank him, both in loud floral shirts and that particular kind of confidence you can only buy with all-inclusive drinks.
“Jaime, bud,” I say, crossing the path to hug him. “Congrats, man. You clean up nice.”
“Look at you,” he shoots back. “First time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes.”
“I was tempted to wear my business khakis but decided I needed to let loose a little,” I say with a grin, and Jaime laughs like it was the funniest joke yet. “Honestly, this vacation comes at the right time because I realized if I didn’t take a break now, I’d forget how to do it altogether.”
The guys chuckle, or maybe they’re just laughing at the way Jaime claps me on the back like we’re closing a deal.
“This is Ben Kingston,” Jaime tells them. “We worked together a few years back when we were both young puppies with stars in our eyes. Ben, these are some of my college friends—Kyle and Mark.”
“Good to meet you,” I say, and they nod, polite but distracted.
“You get your welcome drink yet?” Jaime asks.
I lift my mojito. “Already ahead of you.”
“Good. We’re heading to the beach bar tonight around seven. Kick things off right. You in?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect. Light clothes—you’ll sweat through everything. Trust me.”
“I believe it.”
He squints at me through his sunglasses, expression briefly earnest. “Seriously, man, I’m glad you’re here. Means a lot.”
And here’s where I have to stop myself from overselling. From saying of course I came, that I’ll stick around for whatever they need, that I’m good at filling space. That’s always my instinct—to make myself useful, necessary, impossible to forget.
Instead, I simply say, “Wouldn’t miss it. This place already feels like paradise.”
Jaime grins, satisfied. “Alright, see you tonight. I’ve got to find someone from Violeta’s side before they wander off to the wrong restaurant again.”
“Sounds like an adventure,” I say.
He laughs, waves, and heads off with the guys, already mid-conversation again.
I drain the rest of my mojito and set the glass on the bar. Time to change, unpack, and confirm I actually packed toothpaste and my dress shirt. Then I’ll come back down and try not to look like the odd man out hovering at the edge of every group photo.