Chapter 4 Just Another Day In Paradise
Just Another Day In Paradise
Tasha
Friday morning
Jess to GirlChat: We just got the story of how you became a bridesmaid
Olivia: Not just bridesmaid, CHIEF brIDESMAID. Otherwise known as MAID OF HONOR? You never told us that
Jess: You do realize a MOH has to give a SPEECH
Mel: Finley says she can’t wait to hear about how happy Tash is that they found each other
Me: My aunt said it would “heal the family”
How many are in this chat? I look at group members.
Elena who met Kye on a reality TV show. Olivia who has second chance success with her first love, Hunter.
Mel who is like our big sister, except we’ll never listen to her romantic advice.
Not after she walked away from marriage to gorgeous Gabe and is currently wasting her life with a junior partner at her law firm.
Then there’s Jess, Lyssa and I as the lonely hearts to their loved-up nests.
Elena: Your aunt is delusional
Me: Finley said I was her closest family and she couldn’t imagine anyone else
We used to be like sisters. Until, you know, she stole my fiancé.
Mel: I can’t drink enough to make that make sense
Olivia: IKR? That’s some next-level narcissism
Elena: Does she think this makes her look good?
Me: My aunt said it would “allow the family to move on from that little incident”
Jess: Is that what we’re calling the groom cheating?
Mel: I’m still stuck on Finley expecting you to be her MAID OF HONOR. What a b*tch
Lyssa: You can say the word BITCH. What they did was a dog act.
Lyssa: I’m going to need someone to accidentally trip Finley at the altar
Me: Or we will enjoy a holiday on Lizard Island and go back home with a healthy suntan
Lyssa: As long as one of us goes home with a groomsman wrapped around her face
Elena: Kye isn’t a groomsman and Mel’s “boyfriend” isn’t invited to the wedding
Mel: He was invited. He didn’t want to pay his own airfare
Mel: Or his share of the room
Do I say something? Liam is a dick. He’s a stupid dumbass that doesn’t deserve our friend. Okay, I’m still annoyed that Gabe ghosted us when Mel broke his heart.
Olivia: Back to groomsmen, I prefer Hunter on his knees
Jess: I think Tasha has a head start on Seb
Lyssa: Maybe Tasha is the one who should be on her knees
Lyssa: Or sexy Seb could wear her like his favorite hat
Tasha changes chat name to LyssaShouldBeBannedFromDrunkPosting
I wake up alone, which is exactly what I deserve after drunk-texting my girl posse and then the man they want me to jump all over and ride like a bull.
Last night’s text thread with Seb stares back at me in all its humiliating glory right down to his last text:
Sebastian: Good night, Tasha. Dream of me.
He can’t say I didn’t follow instructions. Which is why I’m exhausted while reading the coffee machine instructions when there’s a knock at my door.
“Tasha?” Sebastian’s voice. “I know you’re awake.”
Impossible, but I crack open the door. He’s holding two coffee cups and looking unfairly gorgeous in board shorts and a linen shirt.
“Peace offering,” he says. “Flat white, extra shot, no sugar.”
“How did you…”
“I pay attention. Can I come in?”
I hesitate, very aware that I’m wearing yesterday’s sleep shirt and haven’t had a chance to brush my teeth.
“Unless you prefer I leave the coffee on the doorstep like room service?” He bends over as if to set down what I assume is my cup.
“And miss the chance to interrogate you about your questionable stalking skills?” I step back, waving him in. “As long as you hand over the coffee, no one will get hurt.”
“Stalking is such an ugly word.” He hands me one cup and follows me through to the balcony. “I prefer ‘romantically observant’.”
“That’s definitely going in my mental file labelled, ‘Things Seb Says That Sound Like Red Flags But Somehow Aren’t.’”
He laughs. “You have a file on me?”
“I have a mental file on everyone.”
“What else is in mine?”
“Subsection one: ‘Has never noticed me.’” I air quote it.
“Time to shred that file.”
We sip our coffees in silence, enjoying the view. Beautiful beach views to the left, stunning beach views to the right. It was worth every dollar to pay for my upgrade.
“About last night,” he starts.
“We don’t have to talk about it.” I don’t want to hear him let me down gently. “You were being nice, I was tipsy, and …”
“Tasha.” He sets his coffee down. “I didn’t kiss you because we’d been drinking. I want our first kiss to be the one we write songs about.”
Oh. His confession needs a minute to process.
“You used to write me poetry.” It seems memory lane is our safe place. Or maybe it’s mine.
“‘Stinky boy, stinky girl, where for out you stinky people’, cannot be considered poetry.”
“I remember that day. Mr Compton criticized your Shakespeare assignment and insisted you explore your original poetry.”
“So I made up shit. If he was going to fail my best effort, then why try to please him?”
“So, you didn’t kiss me because you weren’t feeling the poetry?”
“I’m waiting until you feel the poetry to kiss you.”
Oh.
Both our phones buzz simultaneously from the wedding planner.
Romany: Emergency!
Romany: Bridesmaid dress disaster
Romany: Groom’s trousers need tailoring
Romany: Bride wants the full menu taste-tested and confirm wine pairing
Romany: Bride wants Seb to help Tasha with logistics. Groom unreachable.
Romany: I’m stuck in Brisbane until Saturday. Arriving with rest of the bridal party in time for rehearsal.
My email chimes with a color-coded wedding planner Project Schedule with tasks already allocated to Seb and me.
“She is unbelievable.” I scroll down. “I told her I arrived yesterday and she’s taken it as a green light to dump everything on me. Why are they paying her?”
Sebastian looks over my shoulder—close enough that I can smell his cologne. “Let’s divide and conquer. You take dress and menu tasting. I’ll handle photos and trousers.”
“The trousers are my job …”
“Not anymore. I’m not letting you fix your ex-fiancé‘s pants. That’s where I draw the line.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of it in terms of getting Connor’s pants adjusted.
“Menu tasting sounds like it needs a second opinion,” he quickly adds before I can thank him. “You know, for quality control.”
“Are you inviting yourself to my task?”
“Seven o’clock. Your bungalow. I’ll bring wine because I don’t trust their selections.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “You might want to change. Not that I’m complaining about the view.”
I look down at my oversized sleep shirt and bare legs.
Damn him for making me hope.
By seven o’clock, most of my tasks are with Romany to approve, and I’m pretending not to be nervous after settling on a simple sundress and bare feet. You know, in case Seb invites me on another moonlit stroll on the beach. Consider me girl scout ready.
Right on the dot of seven, Seb arrives with wine and a smile that should be illegal. It lights up parts of my body that have been hibernating far longer than two years.
“You changed,” he says, eyes traveling the length of my dress.
“Resort staff appreciated me foregoing nudity.”
“Their loss.”
We start with scallops and matched wine. Then Sebastian opens a bottle of peppery shiraz I immediately recognize. I built my wedding menu around it.
“Let’s pretend that the wines Romany sent match the meals but drink what we want.” He smiles. “I have it on good authority that this wine is better than anything the groom and bride chose.”
Somewhere between the arancini and the carpaccio, we abandon Romany’s rating rubric. We’re just eating, drinking, laughing.
“Remember when you ordered seven desserts at that Italian place?” Sebastian asks.
“They were all necessary.” I was celebrating my first client by spending the commission on dinner.
“You ate tiramisu with a serving spoon. From the serving dish.”
“You’re only jealous because you missed out on the cannoli.” As we laugh, I’m relaxed and on edge. Relaxed, because nothing about being with Seb is uncomfortable. On edge, because there’s a queen-size bed in the next room. Is it calling to him as loudly as it’s calling to me?
Seb unveils a selection of artisan cheeses and crackers. He reaches for the brie, but I hesitate, my hand hovering over the soft cheese.
“Not a fan?” he asks.
“No, I …” I pull my hand back as if burned. “I couldn’t eat soft cheese for months. Doctor’s orders.”
“Food poisoning?” Do I imagine his eyes glancing to my stomach before meeting my eyes again? Does he suspect? No. No one knew. But he remembered my coffee order and that wine didn’t just select itself.
“Something like that.” I select a hard, aged cheddar, ignoring the way my other hand unconsciously brushes my stomach now that Seb isn’t looking. I’m so sorry little one. “This is good. Pairs well with the other dishes.”
Seb pauses, but doesn’t push, just moves on to the next dish, and I’m grateful.
Our fingers brush as we reach for the next plate—herb-crusted lamb.
All laughter and banter fades. I’m suddenly aware of how close we are at my small table, the warmth of his fingers, how his eyes have darkened and softened all at once.
The way his scent invades my space until all I notice is him.
And the bed so close he could throw me on it from here.
“Tasha,” he says quietly. “We need to talk.”
My heart stutters. When was the last time those words led to something good?
“I had a crush on you in high school,” he continues. “I don’t know if Connor knew or not, but he asked you out first. I thought the two of you would date a while, break up and then you’d see me as more than his friend.”
“Well, we dated and broke up.” After eight years and a near miss wedding mistake.
“And I’ve spent the last two years waiting for a sign that you were ready to move on, so I could step up and … you know … say my piece.”
“Sebastian …” Am I asking a question or just want to hear how his name sounds from my lips? “Are you asking for a holiday hookup, because I’m not that kind of girl.”