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They’re not, but the air is pleasurably warm compared to the intense sun of the day. Well-placed lighting illuminates the meticulously sculpted garden with its low box hedges, palm trees, and tropical flowers. This place truly is stunning. The most beautiful resort I’ve ever visited.
I tie the belt of my bathrobe tighter and stroll along the colonnade. The path opens up to the outdoor hotel pool in the distance. The pool closes at 8 p.m., with a large sign informing guests that no swimming is allowed at night.
But I can hear splashes.
Too curious to resist, I walk down to investigate.
A man is swimming laps.
He cuts through the surface in a crawl, dark hair plastered to his head.
Odd that I should recognize the swimming style so easily. We’d only been on one snorkeling cruise together. But it’s definitely Phillip.
I sit down on one of the lounge chairs. They’re all empty, the area abandoned. Decorative lights illuminate the desk, and the sound of tropical nightlife is heavy in the air. I’ve learned from my guidebook that it’s not cicadas, as one might suspect from the sound, but tiny whistling frogs.
Phillip notices me halfway through another lap. He shifts mid-stroke and turns to tread water.
There’s a surprised look in his eyes.
I give a little wave. “Hello.”
“You’re hiding in the darkness, watching me swim,” he says and takes two large strokes toward the edge of the pool. “That’s not creepy at all.”
“Swimming past 8 p.m.,” I say. “That’s not forbidden in the least.”
“And you’re not about to do the same thing?”
“No. Oh, because of my robe?” I shake my head. “This is embarrassing.”
He rests both arms on the side of the pool. “Then, you have to tell me.”
“I locked myself out of my hotel room.”
A half smile illuminates his face. “You don’t say?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a constant source of amusement, Eden.”
I groan. “Why does this stuff always happen to me?”
“After watching you fall into the ocean earlier… I’d say it’s an absolute mystery.”
“Funny. Why are you violating the sacred hotel rules?” I rest my head in my hands, bracing my elbows over my knees. “Just had to get your evening workout in?”
“Something like that,” he says.
“You’re a good swimmer.”
He nods, but it’s not gloating. Just self-awareness. “I swam competitively growing up.”
“Oh, that explains a lot,” I say. “The drive, the self-control.”
“You know something about my self-control?”
“You’re an attorney, right? That means college, law school, and a lot of paperwork.” I shrug. “Maybe your life isn’t like the lawyers I’ve seen on TV. But if it is, it takes discipline, a lot of coffee, and hot paralegals. Probably a bit of casual sexism, too.”
He looks at me for a long few seconds. “You know, you’re one of the strangest women I’ve ever met.”
