“Okay, I’m gonna gun it, just give ‘er a good hard shove,” Cappy says. “Ready, steady, go!”
I lean into the back of the Jeep, pushing as hard as I can, my bare feet slipping and sliding through the muck as I struggle to stay upright. Cappy guns the engine, and the Jeep lurches forward. I trip, almost falling, and in slow motion I see my phone fall from my pocket into the mud, just below the wheel of the Jeep as it rolls back towards me.
“Nooooooo!” I shout, shoving the car for all I’m worth, but I know it’s too late. I hear the crunch.
“Atta boy!” yells Cappy, gunning the engine again. This time when the Jeep jerks forward and free, I do fall. Face down in the mud, right next to my completely smashed cell phone.
We drive the last mile in total silence.
“Sorry about the mud,” Cappy says when he drops me off at the gate to the resort. The guard takes one look at the two of us in the Jeep and apologizes to Cappy that he can’t let him drive onto the property without some kind of a pass.
“Well then, I guess this is far as I can take you,” Cappy shrugs
“Here you go,” I hand him the hundred-dollar bill.
“What, no tip?” he looks insulted.
“I had to push your Jeep!” I say.
“Yes, but I saved you from the storm,” he tuts. He shoves the bill back at me. “I can’t take your cash. It was the decent thing to do. Sorry about the phone. Good luck with your trip, Son. See you around.”
* * *
It’s surprisingly farfrom the gatehouse to the resort proper. The only nice part about the walk is that the rain has settled into less of a lashing gale and more of a gentle shower. It washes some of the mud off of me on the way. When I finally get to the Mediterranean Village and see the coffee station outside the ornate double doors to the concierge lounge, I could cry.Civilization!I use some of the napkins and hot water to clean off my hands, and face. I’m Jackson Porter, millionaire tech mogul, I remind myself, reaching into my pocket to get out my passport and pull up my reservation on the phone.
Shake it off.
A fresh wave of horror washes over me as I look down at the smashed screen. RIP phone.
At least I have my laptop in my backpack. I pat my shoulder where my bag should be slung. There is no bag.
I left my backpack in Cappy’s borrowed Jeep.This is not my day. At least the laptop inside of the backpack is backed up and insured. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see it again.
If I were in a movie, or even one of Isla’s novels, this would be the meet-cute moment. Except it’s usually the girl who gets pulled into a mud puddle by the adorable mutt she’s volunteered to dog walk or some other dumb shenanigan. I glance around, half expecting to see Isla Fairfax in a fluorescent pink raincoat. If this were a movie, she’d be walking by and walk smack into me right about now. I know how this shit goes. I do the podcast.
“Can I help you, Sir?” an employee wearing a name tag that says Edwina peeks through the door of the lounge, looking concerned. “Are you a guest here? Have you been in an accident?”
“Something like that,” I sigh, glancing down at my shoes. My pants are rolled up, and my legs look like they used to look when I was a kid and my friend Hudson and I would play in the adventure park, slinging mud patties at each other.
Edwina follows my gaze to my wrecked shoes and quickly looks back up to my face, wide-eyed. She’s curious but too polite to come out and ask what happened.
“I’m checking in. Got caught in the storm. I probably should just wait outside here while you get my room keys. I don’t want to mess up the lobby,” I explain. “Jackson Porter, I’m with thePlaying with Matchesproduction.”
“Oh!” her face lights up. “I checked in some of the other people from the show earlier. We are so excited to have Isla Fairfax here. Have you met her? I am such a fan!”
So Islaishere already. She managed to check in before the storm. Of course, she did. And she probably packed her dinglehoppers and an umbrella, too.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Edwina says. “Can I get you anything in the meantime? Unfortunately, we’re out of our welcome bellinis. I’m so sorry. We weren’t expecting any more guests to arrive today,” she apologizes.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just need a shower.”
“Right away, Sir,” she says, turning to go back into the lobby and leaving me dripping next to a wooden bench. I sit down, leaving an embarrassing brown puddle.Whatever.They can hose it off later.
“Jackson! You made it! Thank goodness you’re here. I have been calling all over the Island trying to locate you. We were so worried!” Rob rolls up on a golf cart, leaping out before it comes to a complete halt and rushing to my side. “What the heck happened to you?!”
So they hadn’t forgotten me entirely.
“Long story,” I grumble. No point in bitching about it now. “Nothing a hot shower and a quick shopping session can’t fix. There's a store here, right?”
