The Honeymooner

by Melanie Summers

I laugh in spite of myself. “Fine.” I settle next to him, feeling the warmth of his damp skin. “So, you're a runner.”

  “Just when I need to burn off some extra energy.” He turns his gaze to the sun, which is almost low enough to touch the water.

  We sit in silence for a moment, and I find myself wondering why he needs to burn off extra energy. I’m not going to ask, though. That would sound like a come-on, and we’ve come dangerously close to flirting already, which is a terrible idea for someone who was supposed to be married two days ago.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Really great, thanks,” I say, nodding.

  “Liar.” He bumps my shoulder with his, causing me to feel all warm and tingly.

  “Okay, I suppose I am a little hungover. A lot hungover, actually. I haven’t eaten yet today. And since you asked, I guess I’m still stinging a bit about being here solo.”

  “So not quite ‘really great.’”

  “Not quite.”

  “In that case, maybe I'm here to entertain you.” He looks down at my lips in a way that makes me swallow hard.

  “Somehow I think you’re very good at entertaining women,” I murmur, my voice coming out all flimsy.

  “Was that a euphemism?”

  I straighten up my back. “No, I’d never talk about sex with a strange man. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “No, of course not. But don’t worry, most people who know me don’t find me all that strange,” he says. “I have my quirks, though, like everyone else.”

  “Like what?”

  Rubbing what looks like three-day stubble, he says, “If I tell you, it would have to be under the cone-of-silence rulebook.”

  “Who would I tell? You’re the only person on this island I know, and come to think of it, I don’t actually know you.”

  “Still. A man in my position can’t afford to have his secrets get out.” His face is deadly serious when he says this, so I’m not sure if I should laugh or not.

  I squint my eyes, pretending to be taking this entire thing very seriously, just in case. “Well, if it’s a horrible quirk, I suppose you could get kicked out of the Society of Mixologists. Then where’d you be?” I’m flirting, aren’t I? I should really stop.

  “Mixologists? Oh, right,” he says. “Because of the bar.” A look of understanding crosses his face.

  Does he not know he’s a bartender? Oh my God, that’s why he’s still tending bar even though I’m quite sure he’s over thirty. He’s a good-looking dullard. But he doesn’t seem dull…

  “They’re a fickle bunch, the mixologists. Very exacting standards, so you can see why it’s important for me to get your commitment before I tell you anything,” he says with a grin. “If I’m going to share a secret with you, I’m afraid you’ll have to offer one up in exchange.”

  “I don’t have any juicy secrets. I’m afraid I’m an exceedingly boring woman.”

  “An exceedingly boring woman who occasionally strips down to her very sexy red underwear on the beach?”

  My face flames. “Oh, that’s not an occasional thing. That was unicorn-rare. It’s never happened before and never will again.”

  “Never again? That’s a shame. You seemed so happy,” he says. “In that case, I’ll consider myself a lucky man to have gotten a front row seat to the show.”

  Lucky? The show? “Wait a minute, I thought we promised not to bring that up.”

  “I don’t remember promising that,” he says.

  “Then I must have forgotten to get you to promise it.”

  Reef laughs, then stands and picks up my sandals. “It’s getting late. You must be starving by now.”

  I take the sandals from him, letting my fingers brush unnecessarily against his, then slide off the rock. “Oh, right. I remember you saying something about being clairvoyant last night.”

  “I wish. That would be a huge help in business,” he says as we slowly start back toward the resort.

  “Sure. You could just bring people their drinks and food without having to take their order.”

  “Think of the tips I’d earn.”

  “It would be like the best party trick ever.”

  Maybe it’s okay if I flirt a little. I mean, Richard left me. It’s not like he’s back at home crying in his soup.

  Bumping Reef on the arm, I say, “Okay, cone of silence. Quirk me.”

  He smiles down at me. “All right. This is a biggie. It’s one I rarely tell anyone because the consequences are too big.” He pauses, letting the tension build. “I can’t stand The Beatles.”

  “Beetles, as in the insect, or the iconic rock ‘n’ roll band from the sixties?”

  “The second one.”

  I freeze, grabbing his arm as though I need to steady myself. “No! That can’t be true.”

  “But it is.”

  I let go, and we start walking again.

  “Not even the brilliant ‘Give Peace a Chance’ by John Lennon?”

  “Not even John.”

  “Surely you must like Paul. Everyone loves Paul.”

  Wrinkling up his nose a bit, he says, “He seems a little smug.”

  I laugh. “I can see why you don’t want that to get out.”

  “Exactly. I mean, love of The Beatles is practically an entry requirement for bartenders.”

  “That, and knowing all the words to ‘The Piano Man.’”

  “That, too.”

  We walk for a moment, then I say, “Not even “Let It Be”? Really?”

  “This is why I never tell anyone.”

  By the time we near the resort, I’ve found out that Reef has a younger brother who’s filming some sort of adventure/nature program, a sister who’s in culinary school in the states, he loves peanut butter and pickle sandwiches but only eats them when he’s alone because other people are so grossed out by the combination, and he’s a total insomniac who only sleeps three hours per night. Meanwhile, I’ve admitted to being the world’s biggest ABBA fan, hating the smell of cucumber, and having watched Bridget Jones’s Diary over twenty times.

  As we walk along, I glance around, realizing how little I can actually see under the light of the low moon. It occurs to me that I’d be very uneasy making this trek alone. Huh, now that I think about it, maybe I should be uneasy making this trek with him. After all, he did seem like he would have slept with me when I was very drunk last night.

  “Last night, were you really going to...” My voice trails off.

  “Really going to what?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I was very...drunk last night...and, well...”

  “You’re wondering if I was actually going to take advantage of you,” he says.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t want to insult you. It’s just that...” How do I word this?

  “You’re trying to figure out if you should be walking alone with me on a dark, deserted beach.”

  “Sort of. Sorry.” I look up at him, trying to determine if I’ve totally insulted him.

  “Why are you sorry? If I were you, I would want to know the exact same thing.”

  “Do women often take advantage of you when you’re drunk?”

  “They try. Believe me, they try,” he says with a dramatic sigh that makes me laugh.

  “You poor, poor man.”

  “Everyone has their cross to bear, I suppose. Mine is having women constantly trying to get me into bed,” he says, his tone light. “But seriously, the answer to your question is no. Definitely not with you in that state.”

  “Okay, good. I didn’t think so, but it seemed wise to ask.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Although, if you were a predator, you wouldn’t tell me you were one.”

  Reef stops walking and turns to me. “I suppose that’s true. If I were a smarmy predator-type, I would say exactly what I just said. But in my case, I really mean it. I took you for a walk down to the beach so you could let off a little steam. My plan was
to help you find your way back to your room and leave you there, alone. The way you were talking last night, you would have taken Ringo to bed if he showed some interest.”

  I laugh, then cover my face with both hands. “Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed. I’ve honestly never stripped in front of a stranger before. Or propositioned a man like that. I’m a total play-it-safe kind of girl.”

  He gives me a sexy look and puts on a voice that sounds very much like Nicholas Cage. “Playing it safe is just about the most dangerous thing a woman like you could do.”

  “Did you just quote Moonstruck?” I ask, my eyes growing wide.

  “Maybe?” he says sheepishly.

  “Oh my God, you did!” I say, laughing. “You just quoted a Cher movie!”

  “It’s an Academy Award-winning movie, thank you very much,” he says, sounding a little defensive. “Anyone with a soul loves Moonstruck. It’s one of the very few perfect films ever made.”

  “I totally agree. I’m just so surprised that you’d like that sort of movie.”

  “Why? Did you figure me for some buffoon who only likes superhero movies?”

  I pause and stare at him just long enough to confirm his suspicion, then burst out laughing at the incredulous look on his face.

  “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been insulted so many times in one day.” He shakes his head, clearly trying to force himself to look upset. “You’ve assumed I’m a gigolo, or at the very least a total slut with multiple STDs, a creepy predator, and now — and possibly worst of all — that I’ve got horrible taste in movies.”

  “Sorry, I was just messing with you. About the movie thing, anyway.”

  He laughs as we walk up the path that leads from the beach to the resort grounds. Glancing down at me, he says, “You were wrong earlier, when you said you were boring. You’re anything but.”

  “Thanks. And I guess you’re probably not a creepy slut.”

  We both laugh, then when the moment ends, he gives me a look I’ve only seen on a movie hero’s face. It’s almost like he’s trying to hold himself back from kissing me. I swallow hard, staring into his eyes for a second. Oh, wow. He’s just so gorgeous I can hardly look at him. Oh, and I am in love with another man.

  I quickly turn and start along the path again, and he continues beside me until we come to a fork in the path where we’ll be heading in separate directions. Turning my gaze to the sidewalk, a feeling of dread sets in, knowing I’m in for an evening alone to wallow. Unless…

  “Do you have to work tonight?” I blurt out.

  “No, I have the night off, actually.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I say, suddenly realizing I should not be having dinner with an extremely attractive man, not when I’m basically still engaged, or at the very least on the rebound. Glancing down at my ring, I feel a pang of guilt. Do not ask him to have dinner with you. “Well, thanks for walking me back. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “Thanks. You too,” he says.

  “Goodnight,” I say, giving him a quick wave and turning very slowly toward my building. I mentally congratulate myself for making the right choice. Now I’ll have a quiet evening of reading in the tub to look forward to. Good for you, Libby. Smart decision. Now make your feet move.

  “Do you maybe want to eat dinner together?” His voice tells me he’s still much closer than I thought he’d be by now.

  I spin on my heel and nod. “I’d love that.”

  “Can you give me a few minutes to shower first?” He glances at my growly stomach.

  Do not picture him in the shower. Do not picture him in the shower. “Sure. I should freshen up a bit, too.”

  “I'll pick you up in your room in, say, twenty minutes?”

  “Perfect. I’m in Building A, Room 402. See you then.”

  He smiles again, and just the sight of it warms me from finger tips to my toes. “See you soon, Breeze.”

  The sound of my real name stops me in my tracks. “Oh, I forgot I told you that. I actually go by Libby now.”

  His smile fades. “Libby…Dewitt?”

  “Yes. How did you know my last name?”

  Holding out his hand to me, he’s suddenly very stiff and formal. “I’m Harrison Banks.”

  ***

  IM conversation between Libby and Alice:

  Me: O. M. G. Turns out hot bartender is the guy who owns the resort!

  Alice: WTF? Are you freaking kidding me?

  Me: I wish. We met up again right after I hung up with you, then he walked me back to the resort and asked me to dinner. I said yes, against my better judgment, then we finally introduced ourselves. #totallyhumiliated

  Alice: Did you two still go for dinner together? And exactly what does this guy look like? You said hot, but I really need a visual.

  Me: We did not go for dinner, and I think you're missing the point. Tomorrow morning I'll be going into his office dressed in a suit, trying to convince him to sell his property. As if he's going to take me seriously after seeing me stinking drunk, then having me passed out in his bed all day. Gah! He’s seen me in wet knickers!

  Alice: Seriously, how hot is this guy?

  Me: Crazy hot. Completely sculpted with a smile that could melt an iceberg in under a minute.

  Alice: So, Liam Hemsworth as Thor?

  Me: Affirmative. Oh, Alice, what the hell am I going to do?

  Alice: Pretend none of it ever happened. Just go in, be professional, and get the job done.

  Me: I guess that could work.

  Alice: It'll have to work. If he brings it up, just laugh it off and make up something about that being Vacation Libby and now you’re Business Libby.

  Me: You make me sound like a Barbie doll.

  Alice: It's the best I can do at 5 AM when I've only had four hours of sleep in the last two nights.

  Me: Remind me never to have kids.

  Alice: Never have kids. Speaking of which, Colby just woke up so I'm on duty.

  Me: Good luck with that. I hope you manage to get a nap.

  Alice: Thanks. Good luck with your meeting! Just be breezy about it. ;) ;)

  NINE

  Thinking Outside the Box. Way Outside.

  Libby

  Email from Quentin Atlas to Libby Dewitt

  RE: Progress Update

  Libby,

  I trust your first few days at Paradise Bay have been going well, and that you aren't allowing your situation with Richard to interfere with your work. I've set up a call with you at 10 AM my time to get your progress report and see if you require any ground support.

  Regards,

  Quentin

  ***

  “You sound tired, Libby. Have you been out partying too hard down there?” Quentin laughs.

  “No, it's just that it's 3 AM here, so I set my alarm for this call.” I do my best not to sound completely annoyed.

  “Oh, well, I figured you wouldn't be asleep at this hour anyway. Who goes to bed before three on a vacation? Am I right?”

  “Totally. It would be crazy for someone to go to bed by, say, eleven, when they could be out partying.” I really shouldn't be sarcastic with my boss, especially when I'm definitely not the front-runner for the senior analyst job that’s opening up at the end of the year. But Quentin has a talent for bringing out the snark in me, day or night.

  Did I mention that the promotion is not only a move up, but would also get me out from under Quentin (which I quite obviously need to be)? If I can get on the senior team, I’d have a chance to cut deals with much bigger properties (which means much bigger bonuses), and I’d get to work under the queen of Mergers & Acquisitions, Karen Crawford. She was named one of the “Five Powerhouse M&A Superstars in 2017” by Forbes and is sort of my idol when it comes to analytics. Everybody respects Karen, and if you’re on her team, the world is a much kinder place (read: no Quentin).

  The problem is I’m up against four other analysts for the job, including Alan
the Architect (that’s what they call him because wherever they send him, he designs the perfect deal). He’s closed on four resorts over the last year while I’ve managed two, but also had two deals go bad. (I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure Alan and Quentin set me up for failure on at least one of those, sending me to a place that the head office really wanted to acquire but they both knew was dead in the water.)

  “Great news. Alan’s back already from Atlantis Cove.”

  “His poor wife. I’m sure she was hoping it would take another few months.”

  “Ha ha ha! She got you good, Alan!”

  Dammit! Alan’s there? I close my eyes while my face heats up. “Hey, Alan! I thought I heard you on the line, so I figured I’d have a go. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Nah, not at all,” he says, his voice booming too close to the speakerphone. “You’re right about the old ball and chain, though. She was annoyed when I surprised her last night, but to be fair, I did wake her up by playing “We Will Rock You” by Queen at full volume.” He bursts out laughing, and I distinctly hear Quentin chuckling along as well. Lovely. “Hey, a guy’s gotta celebrate his success, right, Libby?”

  “Righto, Alan,” I say while trying not to gag.

  Quentin finally cuts in. “So, Libby, since Alan is a total shark, I figured I better bring him in on this call so he can tell you how he did it.”

  “Super!” I say, cringing. “Thanks, Alan.”

  “Happy to help any way I can…even if, say, you need someone to come down there to help lather on your sunscreen.”

  Eww!

  The sound of laughter fills the line again, but then I hear Quentin murmur something about ‘me too’ and Alan say something that sounds like ‘right, shit’ before he says into the speakerphone, “I was just kidding. You know that, right, Libs?”

  “Of course.” I yawn and blink slowly as I stare at my computer screen in the darkened room.