“Come on,” he said. “Things will work out, especially since we made all the effort of coming here.” He placed her onto the mattress beside him. “Crying won’t do us any good right now, right?”
“Right,” Hazel said with a sniff. She appreciated his snappy reminder of reality. He was right. They needed to focus on what they could control. Why was that so hard to do when despair threatened to tear her down? “Focus on what we can control,” she said.
“Exactly.” Wesley kissed the tip of her nose and then brewed them each a cup of strong coffee. They agreed to hit up the market, if they found one, for some breakfast items to keep in the room. Hazel did her best to dress without giving in and flopping back onto the bed in despair as she wanted, wearing knee-length shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Wesley slipped into a t-shirt and jean shorts, and they helped one another apply sunscreen.
“I like you in flip flops,” she said. Even in her sadness, she enjoyed the sight of him checking his appearance in the mirror. His muscular legs were a result of his daily runs with Rooster. She wondered if he missed his golden retriever. He ran a hand through his mahogany hair, letting it settle where it may. Her heart sped up a few ticks. He was completely gorgeous. How did she get so lucky?
If only they could both get even luckier and find her missing purse.
“I can kick back with the rest of them,” he said, turning and offering her a come-and-get-me grin. “Hey, we’ll have to find a beach or two while we’re here. What time did you say Franco was coming?”
“He said nine a.m.,” she replied. She couldn’t allow herself any thoughts of regular honeymooning. Not until they’d found what they came here for. Not until they found her bag.
“You never know, Franco might get here with your purse still in his car,” Wesley said. “He won’t be able to miss a bag that screams ‘moo,’” he added with a wink.
Her eyes narrowed to slits, but she appreciated his ability to joke when she felt like she was falling to pieces on the inside. She tied her hair back, applied some lip gloss and they stepped outside. She hadn’t been able to draw in a full breath since she’d woken up that morning, but hope took up residence within her. Maybe Wesley was right. Maybe Franco would show up with the bag after all. “I like this little village,” Wesley said, taking in the surroundings. Hazel sensed it was another attempt to calm her down.
“It’s cute,” Hazel agreed.
The streets’ pavement was crumbling, cracked so much in some places grass was pushing through. The homes here weren’t quite as tightly packed as the favelas Hazel expected them to be. These colorful dwellings in Calma were informal, but as Wesley pointed out, charming and sturdy.
Hazel tugged her sweater on rather than keeping it around her waist. Trees with wide leaves sprouted along the skyline, and several plants with small blossoms were starting to wake for the season. Back home, September would be welcoming cooler weather, but here on the other side of the world, it was the beginning of spring.
A yellow car slowed as it passed. Several small children ran along the grass, kicking a ball between them. Wesley stepped forward as if for a better view until the car continued its progress past them.
“What time is it?” Hazel asked.
Wesley checked his phone. “He’ll be here anytime.”
A young man with a bandana tied around his forehead passed on his bicycle, slowing enough to meet Wesley’s gaze before continuing on. Wesley gave him a small wave.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.” Another car edged around the corner and headed in their direction. Hazel’s heart picked up speed, but the closer it drew, the less it looked like Franco’s vehicle. Too soon, it passed and then disappeared around a narrow corner and into the trees’ underbrush.
Hazel’s hands hung in the air in front of her. She felt stunned and at a complete loss. For words. For thoughts. For anything. Where was Franco? If only she hadn’t been the biggest idiot in the world and left her cell phone in her now-missing bag, they could contact him.
Hazel’s jaw quivered. She attempted to stop it, but it was juddering as surely as if she were in a freezing snowstorm, though this situation was anything but cold. “I’m—” She scrambled for some positive spin to put on the situation. Nothing came to her blank mind. “Maybe you can call my PA and get Franco’s number from her,” she suggested.
Concern grew in his face. “Good idea,” he said, lifting his cell phone to his ear only to lower it again and frown at the device.
“What?”
“My reception isn’t that great here.”
“Must be the jungles nearby,” Hazel said, feeling more and more helpless by the minute. What were they going to do?
Where was Franco, anyway? He said he would be here. Suspicion began festering inside of her, but she muscled it down. No. No way would Franco have staged anything like this. Her assistant Melanie had found him through a trusted agency. He wouldn’t risk his job just to steal her purse. She was the one who’d gone and left it on top of his blasted car.
Wesley’s brow pinched in anger. She warded him off with a finger. “And don’t you dare say how I brought this on myself because of how flashy my bag was.” If anything, the cow-print design would have made it stand out to her that much more. How could she have completely forgotten about it?
He raised his hands in the air. “Things like this just happen, Daisy Jane,” he said, calling her the name he’d used for her when they first dated eight years ago. When he’d first tried proposing to her and their relationship had completely fallen apart. “It’s not your fault. It’s not Franco’s. It’s not anyone’s.”
She huffed and kicked an unsuspecting weed. “I can’t believe I was so absent-minded. This is terrible. Awful. What are we going to do now? And where is Franco?”
She stared around the street in front of their humble hotel as if expecting the translator to appear any moment.
“Franco said he was coming, right?” He crossed his arms over his chest and was keeping it together much better than she was in this moment. More angry tears rushed to her eyes. She wanted to sink to the ground, to give in to the frustrated anguish ripping through her.
