32. Scarlett
Scarlett
After the night we just endured, when rays of sunlight come through our hotel room window and wake me, I’m a little disoriented. The clouds are gone now, and it’s blue skies and calm air outside.
The power and water have been restored, thanks to the amazing staff and first responders.
I am sure the lobby is still a little chaotic; I’ve heard things are running smoothly again.
Apparently, on islands like this, things like this are pretty normal.
That said, I am more impressed with the Bahamas location than the others, and I make a point of stating that.
Room service delivers breakfast to us, and I sit on the balcony enjoying guava cream cheese french toast and a made to order latte while I post photos from last night.
MooreToExplore- Hello lovelies. I think it’s safe to say that the last 24 hours has been a bit wild, but I wanted to make a point of showing you that.
Not all travel goes as planned. Mother Nature has a mind of her own, that’s for sure.
Especially when you are on a little mound of dirt out in the open ocean!
And yet, @BaleResorts is exemplary in taking care of its guests.
A shout-out to the entire staff for comforting and keeping the guests calm and safe.
And of course, a huge shout-out to @MorganBale for positively slaying it last night, rolling up his sleeves and seeing to it that his guests get Bale treatment no matter what the weather.
#eyeofthestorm #these-apple #mindovermatter #Baletotherescue #manofmydreams
It’s almost weird how easily I am able to write the posts, gushy hashtags included.
But at the same time, it feels natural. A lot of things feel natural these days.
Including waking up next to him and planting a kiss on his forehead before sneaking out of bed to come out on the balcony.
It’s kind of funny. I enjoy quiet mornings alone, doing my own thing, enjoying the peace, and giving thanks for the day.
I have always done that as a solo traveler with a wild heart.
But now I like rolling over in the middle of the night and not being alone.
It’s a conflicting feeling in some ways and not so much in others. I could get used to this.
Except you need to be careful…
My inner voice reminds me.
It’s in that moment that I realize I am doing exactly what the mom from last night told me I was doing.
I look down and see my hand is on my belly.
My lower belly, right below my navel. And it’s not in the way you’d grab your midsection because of a stomachache.
It’s a caressing touch. A knowingness. It’s something that now that I am doing it, I have noticed other women doing it.
It’s a feeling I can’t describe, but it’s also not new.
Like it’s something that has always existed in me but was only recently released.
Like opening a locket that I didn’t have the key for until just now.
“Look who’s up with the sun,” Morgan’s sleepy, gritty voice cuts into my thoughts as he appears in the doorway in black shorts and an open, short sleeve button-down shirt.
“Listen, after last night, I didn’t know if we were ever going to see the sun again,” I tease, and he chuckles.
Mmm, casual looks good on him. When I first met Morgan Bale, I didn’t know he had a single easy going bone in his body.
But now, it’s wild how he’s sort of fallen into this other version of himself.
Maybe that’s the wrong phrasing. It’s more of a deeper layer of who he is on the inside.
A layer that used to be visible but has hidden as a defense mechanism.
Morgan takes a seat on the lounger next to me.
His bare feet are planted on the ground.
His forearms are resting on his knees, and his attention is focused solely on me.
There’s a looseness in his jaw that I’m not used to.
There’s a softness in his smile. His whole face, really.
Like he’s reverse-aged in the last couple of weeks despite the chaos and even the mess from last night.
It’s like being here, doing this, is part of who he is.
Or who he used to be. Or maybe it’s who he is becoming.
“Storms like that are always intimidating,” he tells me.
“But they’re not uncommon. And even though guests have a tendency to panic, especially ones that flew in from other places and haven’t seen a tropical storm in their lives, we are pretty good at handling them.
Power outages and flooding and all.” Morgan ends the statement with the same easy smile he’s had since he walked up, and I smile back.
“I saw that. And thanks to doing my job while helping with yours, the world is seeing it too,” I say, holding my phone out so he can scroll through the posts.
“Damn,” he says as he narrows his eyes at photos of the rain, the trees, the water, the EMTs, and of course him in the middle of it all.
“Too much?” I ask. “Does it look bad?”
“Not at all,” Morgan shakes his head, scrolling through them for a second time.
“In fact, I think it shows just how much the guests and staff at Bale mean to us. The lengths we go to in order to ensure that their stay is a good one, even in a time of crisis. Maybe not the tropical getaway they were hoping for, though,” he chuckles.
“No, but they felt safe. That’s what matters,” I tell him.
Then he looks up at me, and his eyes grow warmer.
“What?” I ask.
“Other people are posting pics and videos from last night too,” he says.
“Oh? Let me guess. Trying to make us look bad?” I ask.
But he just shakes his head. “I don’t know, I think you look pretty good.”
“Me?” I ask, hopping up from a lounging position to sit facing him.
Our knees are touching as I grab the phone and look at the photos we were tagged in.
Or me, I should say. It’s me with the family from last night.
The one with the two baby girls. Bring them food.
Talking to the mom, holding and feeding the infant.
In another one of the photos, I am smiling down at her as she suckles the bottle.
Her eyes are on me and she is touching my face with her tiny hand.
“Hmm,” I say, because I don’t know how else to react. The image fills my heart with something warm and lovely.
“It’s a great picture,” he says.
“They needed help,” I say. “And I wanted to do whatever I could.”
“Let’s go down by the pool,” Morgan suggests, standing up and holding his hand out to me.
“For more photos?” I ask. “Post storm?”
“No,” he says. “In fact, I forbid you to take a single photo while we are there.”
I narrow my eyes at him curiously. “I’m sorry, you forbid me?” I ask.
“Yes. As your boss. I forbid you to work at all today. Because you are taking a day off.”
“I’m taking a day off,” I echo, wondering if I even heard that right. Despite what HR might say (if they were even involved with this wild job), I didn’t think days off were part of this job. For one, the job itself kind of feels like a vacation, freak storm and Conrad’s shenanigans aside.
“Yes. You are taking the day off from photos and articles and ratings, and reviews. If you want to take a selfie, that’s fine. But only for your own camera roll. That’s it,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re crazy,” I tell him.
“Why is that crazy?” he asks. The man is still standing in front of me, still holding out his hand like Aladdin asking if Jasmine trusts him. And it’s not that I don’t. If the man manifested a magic carpet out of the middle of nowhere right now, I’d probably hop on.
“You don’t strike me as a day off kind of guy,” I admit.
“You’re right,” he says flatly, and I laugh.
“I’m not. But we need this, and more than that, I want this.
I want to spend time with you, and that has nothing to do with anyone else.
I want to enjoy one of my resorts the way my parents would have.
And considering everything we just went through, I think now is the perfect time for that. ”
I nod and bite my bottom lip. Because honestly, it sounds amazing. And I am so on board.
Morgan and I slip into our bathing suits, and I load up a bag with sunscreen, oil, sunglasses, towels, a floppy hat, and even a book.
At the recommendation of a friend of mine I met in Guatemala, I’ve been reading Christina Lauren’s The Unhoneymooners, and it’s been a fun ride.
Is it realistic? No, but people don’t read romance for the realism.
They read it as an escape. And a cute and spicy escape it has been.
We find loungers by the main pool, near the bar, half in the shade and half out.
Morgan orders both of us some fruity mocktails that are light, refreshing, and hydrating, which is perfect because the humidity here, especially after the storm, is starting to dehydrate me.
And I have to be honest. It feels a little weird just laying here, enjoying the sun and the music and the drinks and the weather.
No photos, no posts, no monitoring the haters. No working.
Just…being.
And more than that. Being with him. Which feels oddly natural.
And I’m pretty sure Morgan feels it too. Because at one point, when I put my book down to apply more sunscreen to my legs, I glance over at Morgan and find him sleeping. I doubt he’s done that in a while, taken at afternoon nap. And when I say a while, I mean many, many years.
After a few more hours, which I spend perusing the villa, refreshing my drink, grabbing a pastry from the coffee shop, and moving the umbrella so Morgan doesn’t get sunburned, he wakes up with a groan and a deep stretch.
“How long have I been out?” he asks.
“Long enough for me to get to chapter eleven,” I tell him, putting the bookmark in my book and setting it aside. “And long enough that I am starved. We should get dinner.”
“Perfect,” Morgan says, sitting up with another stretch. “What are you hungry for?”
“Well.” I smile. “I may have already taken the liberty of making a reservation at Captain’s Cove,” I tell him.