“Are you two new guests?” an attractive woman in her early thirties asks, smiling. Both she and the man next to her have olive skin, dark brown hair, and equally dark brown eyes. No distinguishable scars…
Isabelle smiles back at her. “Yes. So far, it seems like a nice place.”
“Oh, it is. A friend of mine and her husband came here two months ago, and they couldn’t stop gushing about the resort. It completely revitalized their relationship.”
Isabelle keeps smiling, but it’s only because I know her so well that I recognize the slight change in it. Her smile isn’t quite as genuine as before. It’s more for show. “That’s great.”
“I’m Virginia, and this is my wonderful husband, Blake.” The woman plants a kiss on his cheek. He gives us the typical man-nod greeting.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Isabelle says and introduces us to the pair.
“What time’s your group session?” Virginia asks, her voice smooth like glass in the late afternoon sun. Her silky brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and her long, lithe body is firm and athletic. Maybe a dancer?
Her husband also looks like he embraces an athletic lifestyle.
“Three p.m.”
“That’s the same time as us. With Gabrielle in the Marina Room?”
“Yes, but we’re not sure if we’re going or if we’re just taking it easy by the pool.”
From the expression on Virginia’s face, you would have thought Isabelle had announced that she’s really an alien from a faraway galaxy. “You can’t miss the sessions. They’re the reason people come here. Otherwise, you might as well go to any old resort.”
I thread my fingers with Isabelle’s and give them a meaningful squeeze. “What my wife means is that we had an early flight and she’s a little tired. But I’m sure after we’ve rested up in our room for a few minutes, she’ll be raring to attend. We’ve been looking forward to them.”
The elevator dings open before Isabelle has a chance to say anything. The four of us, along with another couple, enter the enclosed space. Virginia continues with the friendly chitchat until we hit their floor. Her husband seems to take it all in stride, not contributing much to the conversation.
Pretty much my MO.
“We’ll see you soon.” She waves to us as the door shuts behind her and Blake.
It doesn’t take Isabelle and me long to locate our room at the end of the hallway on our floor. As expected, the king-sized bed is the only bed in the room. The floor is smooth tile, with an area rug that extends three feet beyond the bed, on all sides. Not exactly conducive for sleeping on.
Otherwise, the room is pleasant. The bedding is white, with a red, chunky blanket folded across the end of the bed. The love seat, upholstered bench, and the cushions are a mix of turquoise and red. The walls are light cream, and the gauze curtains and dresser are a warm honey brown.
But as nice as the room is, that’s nothing compared to the ocean view.
“This is gorgeous,” Isabelle says, momentarily taken in by the room, and missing one crucial detail: the single bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I tell her.
“Why? Because you’re the man?” She exaggerates an eye roll.
“If I say yes, are you going to accuse me of being sexist?”
“Probably. I could also remind you that I’m a big girl who’s perfectly capable of sleeping on the floor. I have camped before.”
I snort a laugh. “When exactly did you go camping?” Isabelle isn’t the sort to sleep in a tent. She’s more the camper-trailer type.
And even then I wouldn’t go that far.
She ignores my comment. “Neither of us has to sleep on the floor. The bed has plenty of room.” She pushes down on the mattress as if testing its springiness.
“You aren’t a cuddler, are you?” I ask, even though I’m kidding. It doesn’t bother me either way.
A mental image of her cuddling me while we sleep pays a surprise visit, and an equally surprising longing stirs deep.
“Nope. What about you?”
