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WINTER
When I get back to my villa from the beach, it’s already dark outside. One minute the sun was up, and the next it had disappeared behind the mountains.
Inside the hut, the AC is still doing a crap job, and the atmosphere is suffocating. I wish I could leave the French windows open to let the evening breeze in. But, as per the thieving monkey population, I’d better not. Still, I need the fresh air, so I jump on the bed and examine the overhead window.
Bingo!
There’s a fixed mosquito screen, unlike the sliding one that protects the door. It should be safe to leave this window open…
Mmm… I sigh in relief as a gust of fresh night air blows in my face. Then, I hop off the bed and move to the bathroom to take my last—for how long?—hot shower.
I stay under the water as long as I can, enjoying this simple comfort of civilization. But when the heat makes me lightheaded, I have no choice but to step out. I wrap myself in a towel and collapse on the bed to lie down for a minute.
“…Nah, man, come on.” Logan’s voice drifts in from the open window.
Hey, I said I wanted to relax, not listen to Satan yapping. I’m tempted to get up and close the window, but the night air feels too good on my wet skin. And I’m just too plain lazy to move right now.
“We have to,” Archibald the Viking replies. “It’s a tradition.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until after dinner?”
“No, Tucker wants everyone to go straight to bed, and we can’t rush this. You have glasses?”
“Inside,” Logan says, sounding resigned. “And close the door,” he adds.
I smirk to myself. Looks like Satan is a quick study.
There’s a moment of silence, followed by the sound of the sliding door opening and closing, a few quiet minutes, and finally the door again.
Then Archie speaks.
“Here’s a glass of the best bourbon money can’t buy.”
“Amazing, man. Priscilla still sends you a bottle every year?”
Archie’s reply is jokingly cocky. “Must’ve made quite an impression on the lady, haven’t I?”
“That you did,” Logan agrees in a tone of friendly reproach.
“To a new adventure,” Archie declares. “And the greatest archeological discovery of the millennium.”
“Cheers.”
They clink glasses and presumably drink. There’s another pause before Logan talks again.
“Speaking of ladies,” he says. “I call dibs on the photographer.”
“What?” Archie bursts out.
What?I echo in my head. I thought the professor hated my guts.
“Seemed like you weren’t interested,” Archie says. “And since when do you mix business and pleasure?”
“I don’t,” Logan replies, sounding infuriatingly complacent.
“So why…? Wait a minute!” Archie protests, riled up. “You can’t call dibs on her just to cockblock me.”
“I can, and I did.”
