I drop my head in my hands. If my mother knew I was technicallyworkingon this vacation, she’d probably spiral into a conniption fit. But I mean, working beside Collette on Carina’s piece didn’t feel like work. When you love what you do, it never truly feels like hard labor. So I keep quiet about this rare opportunity. Not only would she completely miss the significance of it, but she'd immediately hit me with an ‘I told you so, you don’t know when to take a break’.
And telling her about Othello?
Absolutely not.
Although she’d be over the moon about her oldest daughter finally meeting someone. Finally relaxing. Finally letting a man in.
Literally and figuratively.
She’d also be planning my wedding right here and now. But knowing my mother, the excitement wouldn’t stop there. Soon, it would snowball into pressure. Did he want children? Was he stable? Reliable? Serious enough?
My mother had a way of making a mountain out of a molehill. One mention of me seeing a man, and she’d be planning an engagement party and helping me design a nursery. I wasn’t going to tell her about Othello, because it was too new for that kind of weight. Because, really, this could just be a Maui thing. A beautiful, temporary bubble waiting to burst the second reality steps in. The second we leave this island and return to our actual lives. I don’t think my heart can survive my mother getting attached to the idea of him before I even know if he’s truly mine to keep.
“Hope you’re hungry. I brought breakfast.” A voice hollers from outside the door.
It’s Othello.
I hadn’t heard him come in. And judging by how loudly his voice carried through the suite, there’s no way my mother missed it either. Her silence lasts all of two seconds.
“Who is that?” she asks, her suspicion dripping through the phone.
“Room service,” I lie, just as Othello opens the door and enters with a tray loaded with food. He’s about to speak again, but the panic on my face and my finger to my lip make him freeze.
“Room service?” she questions, curiously.
“Yes, ma'am. I have to go. I promise to call you later.”
“Okay, but you better not forget.”
“I won’t, I love you,” I say quickly and then hang up before she can return the sentiment.
Othello sets the tray on the edge of the bed. A basket of warm pastries sits beside a plate of fresh pineapple, grapes, mango, and strawberries with fresh glasses of orange juice.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you were on the phone.”
I let out an exhale. “No, you’re fine. Just talking to my mother. How was your run?”
“It was good. Much needed,” he says, suddenly seeming distracted. “I ran into Gavin on the beach.”
“And?” I ask cautiously.
“He apologized. I didn’t think he would ever say it, but I felt relieved after.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Othello steps closer to me, sliding his arms around my waist, and the intimacy of it feels strangely foreign. It’s been a longtime since a man greeted me and held me like this. Looked at me like this.
I melt into him, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat.
“Yeah. I think it is,” he murmurs and kisses the top of my forehead.
“How was the conversation with your mother?”
I let out a dry laugh. “She thinks I’m going to die alone.”
“Damn, that bad, huh?” Othello backs up and grabs a vine of grapes from the breakfast tray. He peels one off and munches, and I can’t help but think about all the places his lips were on me last night.
“Very bad. So bad that she was going to get my ex to come here and join me in Maui.”
