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And apparently, present Eden is an adventurer, willing to dine with a complete stranger in paradise. I feel locked in place at the table. I’m not eating alone, at least, but I’m still nervous. Just for a different reason now.
I glance over at him. He hasn’t even told me his name. Judging by the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, I suspect he might be a few years older than me, but not much more. He’s frowning while he answers emails.
Work’s probably not going great,I think. I’m grateful my kindergarten students barely know how to write. No emails for me to stress over.
The waiter returns to our table. “Ready for drinks?”
“Red wine,” the man across from me says. “The Merlot.”
“Coming right up. And for you, ma’am?”
“I’d like a rum punch, please.”
The waiter’s smile stretches wide. “The house cocktail. Great choice. Is this your first time dining with us?”
“First night on the island, actually.”
“Really? Welcome!” he says, looking from me to the man opposite me. “You two will have a wonderful time here. It’s the most romantic of the islands, you know?”
The stranger puts down his phone. “It is?”
“Oh, yes,” the waiter says with a wink. “So you two enjoy yourself, all right? I’ll be back shortly to take your food order.”
He disappears amid the tables and leaves the mystery man and me to our own devices. Or rather, him to his device. His eyes are trained on the screen.
I put an arm on the railing. The ocean is shrouded in darkness, and I can just barely make out the softly lapping waves.
“You know, you never told me your name when you invited yourself to my table.”
He works on his phone for a solid minute before turning it facedown on the table. Dark-blue eyes meet mine. “Phillip Meyer,” he says, extending a large hand across the table. “It’s a pleasure.”
I take it. “Eden Richards.”
He shakes my hand twice, a firm grip, like we’re in a business meeting. “Thank you again, Eden, for not relegating me to a convenience store. I appreciate it.”
My hand is warm when I take it back. “Sure. I mean, I’m big on charity.”
His eyebrows rise, and there’s a spark of delight in his eyes. “Charity?”
I’m spared from answering by our waiter’s return. He has a rum punch in a tumbler and a glass of red wine, with one beverage looking decidedly more fun than the other. It has a sprig of mint in it and a frozen slice of lemon.
“For the beautiful lady,” the waiter says with a smile before turning to Phillip. “You’re a lucky man.”
I open my mouth to say—what, exactly?—but Phillip beats me to the punch. “Yes, and she sure likes to remind me.”
The waiter laughs, and I glare across the table. Phillip, however, looks back at me with unreadable eyes. “You did me a favor tonight. I’m the luckiest.”
I want to roll my eyes, but resist until the waiter’s taken our drink orders and left. “So now we’re a couple?”
“I was playing along,” Phillip says. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your seven years of karate. Or your can of pepper spray. How did you get that through customs?”
“Not important,” I say. It’s easy to smuggle all kinds of things when they’re fictional. As long as this doesn’t give him any ideas.
But he’s already looking back down at his phone.
I take a sip of my rum punch, and it’s all spiced goodness. Closing my eyes, I listen to the waves in the distance.
I’m on vacation. I’m in the Caribbean. I’m the master of my fate now.
