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“You have to get a special kind,” I murmur.
He flips through another chapter. There are tiny Post-it flags that mark important parts. To the casual observer, I must look like a complete lunatic to have done so much research before a trip.
“So, are you actually scoping out the island for a future movie shoot or something?” he asks. “Was the honeymoon thing a ruse? Tell me the truth. You’re really undercover.”
I shake my head. “I wish that was it. I just got a bit obsessed.”
“I’ll say.” Phillip stops at a particularly annotated page. “There are asterisks here.See more in…no. You havemoreinfo?”
“Just some links in an online document.”
“You would make a great paralegal or assistant,” he says.
“Um, thanks?”
He looks up at me. “Oh, I don’t mean… just that you’re very thorough. It was a compliment. This kind of note-making is impressive.”
“Thanks.” I play with the edge of the beach towel I’m lying on. “This trip became my lifeline after the whole non-wedding, you know? It felt like it, at least. I wanted to be as prepared as I could be. Honestly, I probably went a bit overboard.”
He closes the guidebook. “Well, you’ve done ten times the research I have. No, a hundred times.”
I smile. “You didn’t plan your itinerary for two, then?”
“God, no.”
“So your ex did,” I say, gambling again.
He shakes his head. “No, we used a professional for that.”
My mouth forms a tinyo. I can’t imagine the life you live if you use someone else to plan your vacations. Our paths would never have crossed back in the States. Even if we’d lived in the same city, we would still be two countries apart.
“Wow,” I say. “Did they provide you with your own guidebook?”
He snorts. “No. Just eight pages of itinerary with the relevant booking details of each excursion.”
“Were the headings highlighted, at least?”
“No,” he says. “There was shockingly little glitter, too.”
I give him a look of mock outrage. “Sorry to say it, but I think you got taken for a ride. I wouldn’t hire them again.”
He chuckles, the first sound of joy I’ve gotten out of him. “Right,” he says and looks back down at his phone. Turns it over and then over again, like he can’t bear to see the screen. “Do you like to fish, Eden?”
“To fish?”
“Yes. Pole, line, bait.”
“I knowhowit’s done,” I say, and something sparks in his eyes. “But I’ve only tried it once or twice when I was a kid. My uncle had a cabin in the woods, next to a lake, and we’d go sometimes.”
“Did you like it?”
“I was eight,” I say. “I liked everything except broccoli. Why?”
“I’ve got another thing for two planned this afternoon. If you’re interested.” He inclines his head to my lounge chair, eyes briefly flitting from my bare legs to the bikini top. “Unless you’ve got an important date with the sun planned.”
“Where are you going fishing?”
“The ocean,” he says, voice deadpan.
