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“I would?”
“There are rose petals all over the deck.”
Everything clicks into place, from the flushed cheeks to the tight mouth.
He’s embarrassed.
Just like I will be on a boat chock-full of happy couples, with me being the lone person without someone there to share the experience with. Except he will be surrounded only by the crew, but they will all will know that it was originally meant for two. Because rose petals can only mean one thing.
Phillip gestures to his catamaran. “On or off?”
“On,” I say, “if you get rid of the rose petals.”
“I’ve already chucked them overboard.”
The boat is huge.
Where it might have felt crowded with three minivans full of people, with only two guests, this catamaran feels positively enormous. I could avoid Phillip the entire trip, and without lifting so much as a finger.
I join him on board and receive wide smiles from the crew. If they were curious about Phillip racing across the docks to pick up a seemingly random woman not originally meant to be here, they don’t show it.
Professionals.
“Welcome on board, Ms.…”
“Eden,” I say. “Please call me Eden.”
Giant nets stretch between the hulls at the bow of the boat. I unfold my towel on one of them and lie back. The boat starts moving, and beneath me, the waves dance. We’re full speed ahead cruising down the coastline toward Carlisle Bay.
“Here you go,” Jamie says with a smile and hands me a virgin piña colada. He’d introduced himself as the lead deckhand and let both Phillip and I know that he’d be happy to make us any drinks or snacks we might want. His crisp white polo shirt stands out in sharp contrast to his dark skin.
“Thank you, that looks incredible.”
“Anytime,” Jamie says and looks over his shoulder at Phillip. He’s sitting on a low bench across the deck, wearing dark-tinted sunglasses and looking down at his phone.
He must be doing what one apparently does best on a boat in the Caribbean. Answering emails. How does he even have internet out here?
At least Jamie’s expression makes it clear I’m not alone in wondering.
I keep my eyes on the horizon, savoring the warm air and the spray of ocean off the waves against my face. I feel alive, more alive than I have in weeks. All the anxiety leading up to this trip was worth it, just for this.
The catamaran takes us into the calm, light-blue waters of Carlisle Bay. The captain halts the boat at the first stop and throws a light tether over the buoy anchored to the sea floor.
“Ready to get in the water?” Jamie asks me. “We’ve got all the snorkeling gear you’ll need.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I say.
Seems like Phillip won’t, either. He comes walking toward us, steady on the softly undulating deck.
“You’d like to as well, sir?”
Phillip nods and reaches for buttons of his shirt. I look away as he tugs it off. I don’t have the gift of tanning easily—the elusive skill that evolution bestows most unequally—and I’m very aware of how pale I am next to Phillip.
There are abs. I see them out of the corner of my eye. Distinct lines chiseled into a flat stomach and faintly smattered with dark hair that disappears into his trunks.
Annoyance flares in my chest. Of course, he has a sculpted body, the perfection marred only by his frequent scowls. I love my lilac bikini, but it suddenly feels too small and covers far too little. I don’t exactly spend my evenings slaving away at the gym.
So, I focus on adjusting my goggles and try my best to ignore the tall and muscled man beside me.
