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Butterflies. Actual butterflies erupting inside me. Holy hell, I'm twenty-three years old. It's a little late for a first crush.
"I- Yes. Yes, please." I can't believe this is happening. It's like I've stumbled out of a depressing black-and-white indie movie into a rom-com meet cute. Or I would if it weren't for the fact he's at least twenty years older than me, and I'm pretty much the definition of emotionally unavailable. I can flirt with him, though, can't I? "So, our anniversary, huh? How many years? In case he asks, of course."
"Of course." My stranger agrees solemnly, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Two years, I think."
I hum thoughtfully, loving the feeling of his skin against mine and how his thumb drags slowly over the side of my hand, almost unconsciously. "Why two?"
His low chuckle goes right through me, spreading warmth that has nothing to do with the tropical climate. "We arrived at the shuttle separately, didn't we? It would take at least two years for me to be able to let you out of my sight. Do you know what? No. Three. Definitely three."
Cue exponential increase of gooey and fluttery feelings.
Is this actually happening?This isn't me. I'm awkward, prickly, and generally unsociable. My own family doesn't like spending time with me, and I've been operating under the assumption that if the people genetically obligated to like me don't, why would anyone else? I don't go out of my way to talk to people, ever, but there's something in how this guy looks at me that makes all those usual worries disappear.
"Don't you think you should learn my name before signing up for that kind of commitment?"
His answering bark of laughter makes my heart feel full. "No," He shakes his head, still grinning. "Tell me anyway. It might be useful."
"Isobel."
His smile grows bigger, "Judah."
From the front seat, the driver calls back, his eyes on me in the rearview mirror. "How long have you been married?"
He looks back at the road when Judah and I respond in unison, "Three years!"
Chapter Two
Judah
TheRegencySunResort& Spa is a sprawling compound of thatched roof, over-water bungalows clustered in small groups around the resort's many amenities. It's the kind of place that belongs on the cover of a travel magazine or bus bench advertisement but not somewhere I ever thought I'd see for myself.
Unless you count the bus trip my 10th-grade band class made to Florida, I've never taken a vacation. It's an embarrassing admission for a man my age, and god knows I won't tell a soul. Even admitting it to myself is cringeworthy.
As a young, already-divorced father, I was thrust into adulthood, trying to force my way through medical school and residency with nothing but sheer grit and determination. Any spare time I had went to my son, and any money I had went to my ex-wife. Then it was growing my practice, trying to parent a disinterested teenager, and eventually navigating the tangled political circles in D.C.
All the while, I was never quite able to shake the work ethic born from being a teenage father who wanted out of his shitty hometown.
Ididget out. I've been out a long time but haven't acted like it. I've kept my head down and kept working as if I stopped, it would all come crumbling down, and I'd be back to square one. It's gut-wrenching to suddenly have the invitation to your only son's wedding in your hands and realize you'll never have that. He's an adult now, will probably have his own kids soon, anddamn me- I'm fucking jealous.
It's not rational. I'm an OB/GYN. How many babies have I delivered at this point in my career? How many ecstatic new parents have I congratulated? How is it possible that in all that time, I never thought about having more children myself? How did I never wonder what it would feel like to be the excited, terrified man standing beside my patient in the delivery room?
The whole damn universe was throwing up ten-foot-tall"Reevaluate Your Life Choices"signs, and I was too locked in highway hypnosis to notice them. I have no one to blame but myself, but the gnawing, disquieting feeling of regret never let up. Or itdidn'tuntil I finished digging around my carry-on for my phone charger before my last connecting flight took off and straightened up just in time to see a young woman with dark blonde hair slide into the seat two rows up from mine.
I barely had a glimpse of her, and still, I felt… fucking obsessed. I looked up whenever there was movement in the aisles, hoping for another sighting of her, but didn't get one apart from the back of her head when the plane disembarked. I thought about her at the customs line, and while scrolling through the emails on my phone to check the name of the resort, I even cast a few hopeful looks over the people waiting along the line of taxis and hotel shuttles.
I didn't plan on bothering her, I know a lost cause when I see one, but I still couldn't resist one last look over my shoulder when I got to the shuttle.
It's a miracle I didn't have a heart attack when I finally stepped into the van and met the warm brown eyes of the woman from the plane. She was even more beautiful up close, a fucking goddess in yoga pants and a wrinkled t-shirt, and it was like every cell in my body ignited in unison at the sight of her. The extraordinary thing, though, the thing I never expected, was that she was looking right back at me.
Every time I see the cracks spreading over the screen of my phone, something heady and pleasurable curls up my spine as I remember how they got there.
Isobel.
When we got to the hotel, we walked side by side into the lobby, my hand pressed to the small of her back to make sure that little shit driver didn't try anything and only separated at the reception desk. They'd mixed up my reservation and Reuben's, so I had to stand there watching helplessly while the hotel porter whisked Isobel's bags onto a trolly, and she gave me a shy little smile over her shoulder as they left.
We're staying at the same resort, I knew I would likely bump into her again, but the moment she walked out the door, I knew thatprobablywasn't good enough. I have enough regrets. I refuse to go back to D.C. with one more"what if?".The poor woman at the desk was only halfway through running through the various amenities and activities available for guests when I pushed off the desk, sprinting through the lobby and outside into the bright sun.
I spotted her immediately, trailing after the porter and looking off toward the beach.
