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Turns out, we’re two entire minivans worth of people scheduled for the open bar, and the intimate dinner and snorkeling cruise.
My stomach sinks as I let my gaze wander over the assembled excursionists. Half of them are my age or younger. Two women in bikinis are posing in front of the boat, while a third takes pictures of them. Beside me, a British couple is standing with their arms around one another, talking in hushed tones.
I’m the only one here alone, and I can feel it.
One of the deckhands must see the expression on my face. “Yeah, it’ll be a cozy one today,” he says with a grin. “I think we might get a proposal, too.”
“Aproposal?”
“Yes,” the deckhand says. He flips over a page on his notepad. “It’s fairly common. Pretty setting, lots of drinks to celebrate. Now let me just see… yes, we’re waiting for the final minivan.”
I look down at the line of people who are eager to board. “Is this peak tourist season?”
“Nearly,” he says and looks at me. His smile widens. “Don’t worry, miss, we’ll take good care of you. Once we’re out there, you’ll have the wind in your hair and not a care in the world.”
I smile back at him as happily as I can manage. The people are one thing, but a proposal?
Something twists in my stomach.
I should head down the dock, to join the line waiting to get aboard the gently bobbing catamaran, but my feet don’t feel like moving.Somewhere on board, speakers turn on, blasting upbeat dance music.
I just want to see the turtles.
“Eden!” someone calls.
I look over at the deckhand checking off names. But he didn’t call my name. No, the loud voice comes from the dock next to ours.
Phillip Meyer is striding across the small pier toward me.
“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath. “You’re scheduled for a snorkeling cruise, right?”
I blink at him. His cheeks are flushed with color, darkening his skin. “Yes.”
“Good. I have one scheduled, too. Similar route and itinerary: snorkeling and dinner. Skip the other tourists and join mine instead.”
I stare at him. “Where’s yours?”
He nods to the catamaran anchored next to the one I’m supposed to be boarding. It’s just as large—a white giant throning on the turquoise waves—but nearly empty. Two crew members are untying the ropes keeping it tethered to the dock, but I don’t see a single tourist.
“That’syourboat?”
“For the next four hours, yes.” His voice sounds strained around the edges. “It was booked for two, so there’s an already-paid-for spot available.”
My brain takes a long minute to work through what he’s saying. “But we barely know one another.”
“We’ve had dinner together,” he says. “There’s a private tour guide on board and several crew members. We’re stopping to snorkel with the turtles.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” he says. “Don’t you want to sit on the bow by yourself? Rather than beside all those people?” He glances at the group of rowdy twenty-something-year-olds beside me who, if I were a betting woman, probably started drinking around noon.
For me, the cruise appealed because of the open-water snorkeling and the beautiful views. For others, it seems the open bar was the selling point.
“Eden,” Phillip says. “I have an entire catamaran for myself, with three crew members. They’re going to cook me dinner.Just for me.”
“Wow,” I breathe.
His face holds a stressed edge. “You won’t be in the way. You would actually be doing me a favor.”
