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Both of our missives disappear in the hand of a smiling receptionist who assures us they’ll be mailed first thing Monday morning.
“Let’s see whose makes it home first,” Phillip says as we walk out of the lobby.
I nudge his shoulder with mine. “You just have to make everything into a contest, don’t you?”
“It’s what makes life interesting,” he says. But then, he puts an arm around my waist and pulls me into his side, pressing a kiss to my temple. “But I like it best when we’re both winning.”
I smile against his shoulder. Public displays of affection? This is dangerous for my overworked heart, but I lean into him because I know it’s too late regardless. It’ll hurt when this ends.
We walk past the arguing sisters I’d spotted those early days on the beach. One of them gives us an irritated glare and then mutters to the other in a British accent. “Look, even more honeymooners. I told you this place was…”
I chuckle. Beside me, Phillip shakes his head. “Those are fighting words.”
“Good thing you have your hands full,” I say with a smile.
His hand tightens around my waist. “Spend tonight at my place.”
“The whole night?”
“Yes,” he says. “You’ll still be up in plenty of time to enjoy your final taste of the breakfast buffet, I promise.”
We step out into the late afternoon sun. The clear sky promises a brilliant sunset, my final one on the island.
“Okay,” I say. “One last night.”
He kisses my temple again. “One last night.”
We eat room service on his patio while looking out at the ocean and the setting sun beyond. The insects serenade all around us, and as happy as I am to be flying back home to my own bed and my couch and the familiarity of tomorrow, I know I’ll miss this.
Nostalgia is heavy in my chest, and I haven’t even left the moment I’m in, yet. But somehow, I know I’ll come to miss it long after it’s passed.
Phillip sits across from me. He has a serene look on his face, perfectly at ease with himself. No turmoil at all. As if it’ll be nothing more than a simple goodbye andwish you all the bestandhave a safe flightfor him.
He looks over at me. “So, have you decided on an outcome for your mysterious businessman yet?” he asks. “In your story?”
I blink a few times. “Oh. Um, not yet. At first, I was going to have him be involved in the affair, the one the main couple is uncovering, but now, I’m not sure anymore.”
“No?”
“No,” I say. Yesterday, while I was writing in my notepad before bed, I had the image of him sneaking away with the female main character. Maybe that’s the romance story, the one I’ve been struggling to figure out these past two weeks.
Maybe he’s just misunderstood. He’s accused of the murder, and my main character has to work to clear his name… while questioning her own judgment.
“Eden?” Phillip prods.
“Sorry.” I look up at the beautiful, colorful sky. It looks as vast as the ocean spreading out in front of us. “I think, I would have been so miserable,” I say, “if I was that astronaut.”
He frowns. “Michael Collins?”
“Yeah.” To my horror, my eyes well up. I can feel them betraying me. I blink a few times to try to clear my vision. “Sorry. I’m just thinking about what happens after this.”
He grows still. “You are?”
“Yeah. It’s stupid. Sorry, I think I’m just being sentimental.”
“Sentimental?”
I nod, and a stupid tear slips down my cheek. “Yeah, at the thought of going home tomorrow. Of leaving… the resort.”
