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I started preparing my defense when she climbed out of the pool with her gaze locked on me, using a towel to blot the salt water from her natural hair before she padded over.
“Hey,” she spoke. “I hope you don’t mind the question, but what did you have for lunch? I keep getting whiffs from your plate, and it smells amazing.”
“Oh,” I responded, relieved that it was that. “I had the jerk wings, yellow rice, and salad with mango dressing. It was a huge portion—too much for me to finish by myself, but it was good.”
She smiled. “Nice. I’ve been trying to decide what I want to get. David is talking about,we just ate, you’re going to make yourself sick. But I mean… isn’t that kind of the point of being on vacation? Doing stuff you’re not supposed to do before you go back to some soul-sucking job?” she asked, dropping to a seat at the end of my chaise. “I’m sorry — I’m Melanie,” she said, extending a hand in my direction.
“Dacia,” I responded, returning the gesture.
“Is today your first day?” She asked. “Or have you been here before?”
“My second day—and no, I’ve never been here before. You?”
“We just got here this morning, and I have already talked to three other people who say it’s not their first visit. And I’m like, I thought the place just opened, and you’ve already been here before, multiple times? What kinda jobs do they have and are they hiring?”
I laughed. “Yeah, thatisquite a bit of vacationing. What do you do?” I asked—the making of conversation with strangers was aGarden-bred habit I hadn’t yet shook. Talking to people was part of the allure, as much of the skill-set as sex.
“Boring ass accountant—is how I’msupposedto frame it, but I actually love it. It’s just exhausting. David and I actually met at work, at a corporate accounting firm. Fell in love, got married, and now we have our own little boutique firm—that we’ve managed tostillmake stressful,” she chuckled, her gaze caught on her husband as he finally climbed out of the pool too.
I… couldn’t blame her.
He was attractive and well-built—so was she, honestly. I found my gaze drifting to his arm though, making sure there was no band of thorns on his bicep. I’d already looked for the rose on Melanie.
Of course, neither bore any markings from theGarden.
Why would they?
“What do you do?” Melanie asked, touching my leg to get my attention. The contact was brief, but still left me flustered – it was something I was still working on.
“Oh, um… I write romance novels,” I answered, watching her face to gauge her response as soon as the words left my mouth. In Vegas, there was rarely any occasion to answer such a question, since I was primarily surrounded only by those who knew me.
All of whom thought therewasno job.
I couldn’t saywhyI’d given that answer so quickly, but it was out there now, and it made Melanie smile.
“Really?!I love romance novels – do you use a pen name? I think I’d remember if I’d seenDacia…”
“I do write under a pen name – that I can’t tell you, so I can stay anonymous,” I added, hoping she’d just accept that answer.
“Ohhh, mysterious!” she squealed – apparently finding the idea exciting. “Hey babe,” she greeted David as he approached us after drying off. “Dacia, this is my husband, David. David, this is Dacia – she writesromance novels!”
“Ah, hell,” he replied to that, but in a good-natured tone that told me he was just teasing his wife. He offered a hand in my direction, and I accepted his firm grip and shake. “Nice to meet you, Dacia, but I’m gonna tell you now – Mel is about to talk your ear off.”
“Man shut up,” she said, poking him with a raised foot as he laughed. “Anyway – Dacia. I’ve gotta know… are you writing the steamy stuff, or nah?”
Honestly?
Just the thought made me blush.
“No, my stuff is super tame,” I admitted, shaking my head.
Maybetootame.
“I try to just keep a tight focus on the actual relationship,” I told her, parroting something I’d read in a review and held tight to –herewas the justification I needed.
“You don’t think sex is an important part of the relationship?” Mel asked, wearing a confused frown. “I definitely understand that it’s different for different couples, and some people areasexual, so their intimacy might look different too, but—oh shit, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth. “I don’t mean to imply something is wrong with the wayyouwant to tell your stories.”
“No, it’s fine,” I insisted, waving her off. “You’re… actually right. It’s something I’ve had on my mind a lot—part of why I came on this trip, as a writing retreat. Something in my work was feeling a little stagnant, or… like I wasn’t giving the stories everything I should. And I think that missing sexual intimacy component might be the thing.” I pushed out a sigh, and then muttered, more to myself than anything, “And I have no clue how to fix it.”
