How to Honeymoon Alone

“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.”

My eyebrows shoot high. “Me?”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

“Me, either,” he says, but the half smile is back. “It seems that you say exactly what you think.”

“Not always,” I counter. There have been many thoughts I haven’t shared over the past few months. About myself, about Caleb, about Cindy. Question of why. Why, why, why?

“Oh? Should I be scared to hear the ones that don’t make the cut?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m a perfect angel.”

“Of course, you are,” he says. “Now come on. Get in.”

“Get into the pool?”

“Yes. You’re here, aren’t you? Why not?”

“Because it’s… crazy. And because I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”

“So wear your underwear. It’s not like anyone can see anything in this light, anyway.” He turns onto his back and pushes away from the edge of the pool, floating on the water. In the distance, I can hear the waves beat the shore, mingling with the serenading insects and frogs.

Phillip resumes swimming laps, on his back this time. I watch him complete two full laps while my hands played with the belt of my bathrobe.

Of course, he’s the type to do laps. It makes perfect sense, with his semi-serial killer vibe and repressed sense of personality.

This should be in my book. Maybe it’s how the two lovers meet. The pool at midnight. Or maybe it’s someone’s alibi… only there’s no one about at that hour to confirm it. That’ll be good.

I take a deep breath. So far this trip has been all about craziness. About saying screw it, about embracing my vacation self, about taking risks and shaking off the rut I’d been in.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say and tug off my robe.

“There are no sea turtles to photograph here,” he says. “So, so am I.”

“Very funny. Is it cold?”

“Not really. It’s cool.”

“Which probably means it’s freezing.” I dip my foot into the water. It’s lukewarm. Likely a welcome reprieve during the blistering hot days, but now with the sun gone, it feels a bit chilly.

I don’t let myself think as I tug off my pajama shorts and shirt, standing there in my underwear for a heartbeat, before stepping into the pool. Phillip is at the other end anyway, swimming again, cutting through the water in strokes that I could never replicate.

The water is brisk against my skin. I take a deep breath and sink down to my shoulders.

It’s nice. Well, it will be nice. In about two minutes.

Phillip surfaces a couple of feet away from me.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say.

“Breaking the rules? Or swimming?”

“Both.”

“Well, rules were meant to be broken.”

“Is that your professional opinion, as a lawyer?” I say. “Because that doesn’t seem right.”

He shakes his head, water droplets flying from his wet hair. They ripple the surface around us. “No. I’m off hours.”