How to Honeymoon Alone

“To seeing more turtles hatch?” he says.

I nod, my hands flat against his chest. His eyes are locked on mine, and there’s an intensity there I haven’t seen in the past few days.

“To taking chances,” I say.

“Hmm.”

“Which you should do, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I should?”

“Yes. Don’t forget your vacation self when you’re back in Chicago.”

He catches a lock of my hair between his fingers and twists it around, eyes locked on the motion. “It would be very hard to,” he says.

My hands find the top button of his linen shirt. I undo it, and then the second, so I can feel the warmth of his chest beneath. “Don’t go back to her,” I whisper.

He looks up at me sharply. “I won’t.”

“Good,” I murmur. “Because you deserve a lot better than someone who cheats on you.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

His hands slide down to my waist and grip me tight, like he would keep me on his lap forever. “So do you, Eden. So do you.”

I spent my final night on the island in Phillip’s bungalow. Room service, drinks, and the casual banter I’d come to enjoy so much with him. We had sex in his giant, luxurious bed, originally meant for two newlyweds.

He’d kissed me with crushing intensity and I’d dug my nails into his shoulders, closing my eyes and wondered how I will survive with only these memories to remember him by. Afterward, he’d tucked me into the curve of his body, and his deep breathing had lulled me into sleep.

It’s the next morning, D-day. Departure day. I use his shower before we head to the breakfast buffet together.

“Have you checked in?” he asks me, and I nod, digging into my pancakes. “Booked a car?”

“No, I’ll ask the front desk to call me a taxi.”

“Good,” he says. “Picked your seat on the airplane?”

I smile at him across the table. His dark-blue eyes are warm, his face so familiar after all the days we’ve spent together. “Are you a nervous flier?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m a prepared one.”

“Well, I have prepared. Remember, I’m the queen of guidebooks. Of research.”

“That’s right. How colorful is your luggage tag? Does it have glitter on it?”

I stick out my tongue at him.

He blinks in surprise before he chuckles warmly. “So that’s a yes.”

“Eat your pancake,” I say. Singular. Because that’s all he’s allowed himself. Along with a huge plate of bacon and fruit.

He’s smiling as he digs in.

The time for my flight comes too soon. Butterflies chase one another in my stomach, throwing me off-kilter. I feel like there’s still a conversation left to be had. But I’m not sure if it’s a conversation I can handle, either.

My emotional outburst last night hadn’t allowed for it, and today, I’ve been focused on packing and eating and trying not to cry whenever I look at Phillip.

I request a taxi from the front desk, leave my key card in the designated checkout box, and walk with Phillip out of the lobby. He’s silent beside me, carrying my bag. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s wearing his shades again, and he looks tall and handsome. I wish I could keep him.

I wish there was some way to make this last, even if we’re several states apart and leading two very different lives.

We come to a stop at the curb.

“So,” I say.

He takes off his sunglasses. “So.”

“I’m really glad you were here, too.”

His lips lift in one corner. “Yeah, me, too. Even if the circumstances that led us here weren’t great.”

“I’ve had better years,” I agree.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll be waiting for your postcard. Back in Chicago.”

“I’ll be waiting for yours,” I say. “If it doesn’t get lost in international mail.”

He nods again. “Eden… thank you.”

“For what?”

He takes a deep breath, and the moment between us stretches out into silence. But then he speaks. “For being my guide.”

“Oh. Well, I enjoyed that. Thanks for sharing so many of your planned activities.” I shift from one foot to the other, the unspoken, useless words hovering on the tip of my tongue.

“I enjoyed the company,” he says.

My taxi pulls up, and I rock back on my heels. “Well.”

“Yeah,” he says.

The cab driver rolls down a window. “You’re the one going to the airport?” he calls.

“Yeah.”

Phillip takes a step closer. “Eden,” he says, and there’s frustration there. “I wish I could… come here.”

He pulls me against him and tips my head back. He kisses me-hard-lips against mine, hands bruising on my hips. I twine my fingers into his hair and thank you, I think, for letting me experience this.

I don’t want to step back. I don’t want to get in the car. And most of all, I really don’t want him to let me go.