“No, on the contrary.” Alex keyed the hotel address into his phone and soon we were listening to the polite British lady again. I followed her instructions. We wound our way through the somewhat sleepy town. It had a charming, slow atmosphere about it. People here seemed to walk a little slower even. Finally, we arrived at our hotel.
“Wow.” I looked up at the building. It was beautiful. A triple-storey painted in bright yellow. An intricately carved bright teal balustrade ran the length of its upstairs balconies. Flower pots filled with flowers clung to the balustrade, creating a carpet of bright pink that swept across it. The hotel was right on the street and small tables and chairs had been placed on the pavement like a street café in Paris.
We parked the car and walked inside. Alex immediately strode up to the reception and started speaking in French to the lady behind the counter. She seemed all smiles and only too happy to help. Alex started digging in his back pocket and soon pulled out a wallet. This was my cue to rush up to him.
“Wait,” I said, pulling out my wallet, “how much is it?”
“Don’t worry.” He shrugged, pulling out a shiny card. It was way shinier than mine, but just because it was shiny and mine was more matt, didn’t mean I wasn’t paying my way.
“I’ll pay for my room,” I said, sliding my card across the table towards the receptionist, even though I knew my emergency fund would be very depleted by now.
Alex looked over at me and gave a small smile. “Of course,” he said. Once we were booked in, the receptionist showed us to our rooms. But instead of being inside the hotel, we were led through the back and outside.
Stretching out in front of us was the most beautiful garden. It was the smell I noticed first. There was a soft breeze, and riding on it, the sweet, sticky smell of frangipani and fresh-cut grass. The garden sloped up steeply and was filled with so many different shades of green. And in between all that green, explosions of flowers in various shapes and sizes and colors; bright purples, cotton-candy pinks, oranges and big white trumpet-shaped flowers.
We walked further into the garden and the chalets came into view. Scattered in the garden, small free-standing cottages all in bright Creole colors. The sound of trickling water made me look down—a stream cut through the garden and we walked over a wooden bridge.
“This is so beautiful,” I said, as we followed the woman up the path. We passed the first few cottages and then she finally stopped outside one and passed me the key.
“Thanks,” I said, looking over at Alex. Suddenly the idea that we were being separated felt wrong. We’d spent so much time together.
“Where’s yours?” I asked, because for some reason I needed to know.
The woman pointed and spoke in French. I looked over at Alex for a translation.
“Number eight,” he said, “up the path and to the left.”
“Okay.” I nodded at him. “Well, goodbye then.” I started turning the key in my lock.
“Not goodbye,” he said.
I raised a brow at him.
“I have something else planned for us, remember?” He gave a tiny smile. “Meet in the reception in ten minutes?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because we are about to cross another thing off our list.”
“Haven’t we crossed enough off the list today already?”
“Trust me. You’ll want to do this one.” He winked and continued to walk up the path and finally disappeared.
Ten minutes later, after off-loading my bags and changing into a comfortable skirt and T-shirt, I walked back down to the reception and found Alex waiting for me. It was late afternoon and the air was thick and hazy.
“So where are we going?” I asked when I saw him and we started walking out of the hotel and onto the street.
“ ‘Number Eight. Have A Spa Day With The Girls,’ ” Alex said, handing me a brochure. “I know I’m not one of the girls, but I should do, right?”
I smiled across at him. “You’ll do,” I said, looking down at the brochure in my hands. I started reading out loud. “This town is known as a spa town. Water from thermal springs is heated by volcanic chambers far below the surface. The water is packed with minerals and is said to hold great healing powers for many ailments, from arthritis to relieving stress, and is a natural painkiller.” I looked back up at him. “Did you book?”
He nodded.
“You are a busy bee, when did you get all of this done?”
“This morning, when you were sleeping in.”
“Are you always this prepared for everything?” I asked, opening the brochure.
