Chapter Two
People talk a lot of crap about being the third wheel, but when you’re best friends with Emmy Cole, you either get used to it or you find yourself a fourth wheel.
Finding a date is never high on my to-do list, so I roll with the perks like the third-wheeling gold medalist that I am.
And oh, have there been perks to Ben tagging along with us for the last two days.
For instance, without him, I wouldn’t have been treated to poolside massages with Emmy. I wouldn’t have gone jet skiing yesterday—rentals paid in full by Mr. Moneybags—and I absolutely wouldn’t have found myself wandering a gorgeous farmers market today.
Ben charmed Emmy’s parents into letting us go with him.
It didn’t hurt that Ben’s dad and Emmy’s parents went to the same college, only a few years apart.
They didn’t know each other at the time but found they had some mutual friends, and after a mini college reunion at the bar last night, Mr. and Mrs. Cole declared the Mulhollands “good eggs” and were more than happy to send us off on a shopping adventure with their son this morning.
We’ve been so busy, I’ve almost blocked out the mortification of face-planting on the beach in front of Jackson the other day.
Almost.
I stop beneath a full street of colorful banners stretched overhead and sigh.
I’ve eaten everything I could get my hands on today.
The food here is incredible. And there’s music playing on every street corner.
Fresh fruit stands. Dresses and T-shirts in intensely colorful shops.
Merchants showcasing wearable displays of sunglasses, turquoise earrings, seashell necklaces, and woven beach bags.
Hand-painted art on pottery, canvases, wind chimes, and plates.
Emmy and I found a vendor who makes woven friendship bracelets with gold beads, and we each got one that matches our respective pedicures—pink for her, red for me.
This place is alive with a thousand conversations happening all at once, and I can feel the energy buzzing beneath my skin.
I turn around, looking for Emmy, and find her and Ben stopped at another merchant.
Ben examines two lighters, one gold and one silver, both with a sea turtle etched into the side.
Emmy picks up a vibrant turquoise pendant on a silver chain and smiles happily as it spins in the sunlight.
Ben hands a wad of pesos to the merchant, holds up the gold lighter, and nods toward the necklace without Emmy even asking for it.
He pockets the lighter and slips the necklace from her fingers, stepping behind her to fasten it around her neck.
She beams up at him and turns to show me.
“Isn’t this the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?” she asks.
I nod.
“Not quite. You are the prettiest,” Ben says, planting a kiss on the side of her neck.
I try not to make a face at how horrifically cheesy that was.
Or point out that he just called her a thing, because I’m fairly certain that was unintentional.
They wander off ahead of me, Ben carrying at least ten bags of stuff he’s bought for her in the crooks of his arms. He offered to buy a number of things for me too, but I declined.
Ben may be a wonderful tour guide, but I’m beginning to suspect his money is his most prominent personality trait.
Emmy doesn’t seem to mind though, and I’ve seen her attach to worse in the past. At least Ben is charming and kind.
Even now, as I watch them strolling down the street, hand in hand, he looks back to make sure they’re not leaving me behind.
Emmy stops at a rack of stickers, and I slide up beside her. Almost all of them say “Puerto Vallarta” with some illustration of a sun or a sea turtle or a palm tree. Emmy grabs one and holds it out to me. “This has ‘Hannah’ written all over it. For your water bottle collection?”
It’s a neon pink sticker with a black palm tree that says, “PUERTO VALLARTA EST 1851.” I reach into the coral-colored mesh bag I bought here this morning and pluck my water bottle from the bottom.
The surface is nearly all covered in stickers.
A sloth wearing a beanie, a “Stay Positive” skeleton flashing a thumbs-up sign, Dutch Bros, a “Save Our Oceans” sticker with an orca, an anatomical heart with anatomy labels, a brain with eyeballs that says “let me overthink this,” a symbol for the Red Cross, one from Powell’s Books, and a blue holographic sticker from the Waldorf student store.
There’s one more open spot near the bottom I’ve been looking to fill for a while now.
I hold the Puerto Vallarta sticker against the empty space, and it fits almost perfectly.
“Sold,” I say, with a grin. I pay for the sticker before Ben can offer.
He rolls his eyes at me, but he’s smiling.
I put my water bottle back in the bag and pocket the sticker for later.
Ben looks down at his watch. “We should catch a taxi, or we’re going to be late.”
He nods toward the end of the street, where traffic is racing back and forth, and we head in that direction. We said we’d be back at the resort by four.
Emmy loops her other arm in mine and leans her head on my shoulder. “Can you believe we only have one more day here? I’m not ready to go home yet.”
I stop to admire a skirt with the most eye-catching emerald stitching. “It’s technically two days. We don’t get on the plane until six on Sunday.”
“The last day never feels like a true vacation day though. It’s too stressful to do anything with all the packing and watching the time and double checking outlets for lost chargers.
There’s only one day of fun left, start to finish.
I’m going to spiral into situational depression on the flight home. ”
“Dramatic much?” I poke her in the side, and she laughs. “We’ll make the most of the time we have left; don’t worry.”
She meets my gaze, and her blazing blue eyes are so sad it makes my heart pinch in my chest. “I’m not ready for…the rest of the school year.”
Translation: She’s not ready to say goodbye.
I pinch the end of her nose and smile. “No sadness on vacation! Fun only. Isn’t that your number one rule?”
Besides, if she starts crying about goodbyes and going our separate ways, I’ll lose it too.
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m just not ready to go back to the routine yet.
” She sniffs and takes a deep breath as we step onto the wide sidewalk at the end of the street.
She starts to speak, but something behind me catches her attention.
Her face brightens. She points at one of the little tourism kiosks on the street corner.
It’s covered with posters advertising local attractions.
The side facing us has a giant print of a grinning man, speeding through the treetops in a harness.
“You know what would be fun? Zip-lining! One of the people at the front desk told me they filmed Predator here, and they turned the filming location into a zip-line tour. They even have the crashed helicopter from the set and guides who dress up like the alien and everything.”
I feel my features pull tight around a smile that does not belong on my face, but if Emmy wants to zip-line with some aliens, I love her enough to make that happen.
“Or…I have a better idea,” Ben says, turning to face us as he backs closer to the road. “What if we charter a boat?” He stops at the curb, and a heavy flow of traffic whips past on the cobblestone street behind him.
“Like one of the group tours?” Emmy glances toward other posters on the kiosk. Sailboats, double-decker pontoon boats, sleek-looking mini-yachts—all ready and waiting to take us to dozens of locations around the bay.
“Yeah! Maybe a sailboat? The three of us can sail and swim, and make the most of your last full day in paradise. They typically go out in the morning and come back before dinner, and they usually provide lunch and snorkeling equipment and anything else we might need. Could be fun.” He catches my eye. “Maybe more fun than zip-lining?”
Okay, so he is a bit cheesy, but he clearly clocked my aversion to flying through the jungle and produced another option. One he lumped me into without it being an afterthought. The three of us can sail…
He’s been very nice to me, and he clearly doesn’t have to do that to get Emmy’s attention. It’s actually cool as hell. Ben’s not so bad.
“Oh. My. God. I’d love to go sailing!” Emmy squeals so loud that a group of locals walking past us turn to stare at her. She doesn’t notice.
Ben stops to hail a cab, and one screeches to a halt beside him.
He opens the door to let us in ahead of him.
I take the outside, Emmy slips into the middle, and Ben piles in last, then smoothly tells the driver where we’re going in seemingly perfect Spanish while rearranging the shopping bags in his lap.
The cab lurches away from the curb, accelerating wildly, and I bite back a grin.
I love how they drive here. It’s chaos, and I’m obsessed with it.
“So it’s settled,” Ben says. “I can arrange everything, if you’d like?”
“I have to ask my parents, but if they were cool with us going to the market with you today, I don’t know why they’d have a problem with a boat trip.”
My enthusiasm dies a bit. I highly doubt Mr. and Mrs. Cole will be as “cool” with this excursion as she thinks. There’s a big difference between spending a few hours shopping in town and voyaging out to sea. Our final vacation hurrah might be dead in the water.
“I can charter a private boat; that way there aren’t a bunch of strangers with us. Would that help? I can also talk to your parents myself, before I go back to my room.”
Emmy beams at him. “You’re so considerate.”
“Anything for you.”