Noah follows, coming to stand beside me at the desk so we can check in together. We give the receptionist our IDs and then she starts typing away on her computer, leaving us with nothing to do but talk or sit in companionable silence.
Noah opts for the former.
“How are things going with you and Von? Is he still coming?”
I reply with a noncommittal hum, not ready to divulge the truth.
“He’s a lawyer, right?”
“Yes. A very successful one. Very important. And thank you for asking—they’re fine. We’re fine. Thank you.” I’ve thanked him twice now, so it’s probably time to shut my mouth before I actually let the truth slip out.
Von and I broke up a month ago, but I can’t admit that to Noah. I’m mortified that I wasted over a year of my life waiting for Von to take our relationship seriously. A perpetual workaholic with no sense of boundaries, he never seemed to care if we had plans on the books. He canceled on me last minute all the time, but I let it slide because when he did show up, he was captivating and charming and always full of promises about what our future could be.
He was so good at blinding me with possibilities that I was oblivious to the gaping holes in our relationship. I wrote off his wrongs in the hopes that one day he’d eventually change and pick me over his career.
When he left me hanging on my birthday last month—sitting at a restaurant sipping champagne by myself for two hours—it was the final straw.
I broke up with him that night via drunken text messages.
“Almost out of this meeting. Sorry babe. I’ll make it up to you, I swear” was the last text he sent me before I replied with a typo-riddled explosion of feelings.
“Fruck you! I’m done waiting. Th4d is over.”
“ALshO YOU AREN’T THAT GO0D IN BeD.”
Do I regret it? Sure. There are more dignified ways to end a relationship: a calm phone call, a certified letter sent via USPS—whatever. At least it’s over. At least I finally woke up and realized I deserve more than what Von was willing to offer.
“Okay, we have you two booked in the family villa. Dr. Brooks, will Mr. Von Taylor be joining you? We can give you two keys now if—”
I wave off her offer. “No key necessary.”
“He’ll want his own key,” Noah prods.
“He can use mine,” I say, clearing my throat and forcing a smile at the receptionist. “Now, is that everything you need from us?”
“He’s not coming, is he?” Noah asks.
“Excuse me,” I say, holding a finger up to her before turning to aim a narrow-eyed glare at Noah. “Do you have to be so nosy?”
“I’m just curious about who’ll be staying in the villa with us,” he says, unaffected by my harsh glare.
“It appears it will only be the two of you,” the receptionist says, trying to be helpful.
She is not helping.
“Would you like to downsize to one of our junior suites? It has plenty of space for two people.”
I wave my hands at her like I’m an overzealous referee. “No! No.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Noah replies. “We’d save money.”
“Noah, we’re both doctors—money isn’t an issue. I’m not sharing a junior suite with you. I bet it only has one bed.”
“A king,” the receptionist says, like that matters.
Unfathomable.
Noah shrugs. “I’m fine either way.”
I narrow my eyes, not quite sure what he’s getting at. Recently, Noah’s been saying and doing things that don’t totally align with our carefully constructed friends-at-a-distance relationship. He remembers my favorite drinks, chastises me about Von, insists on walking me home whenever we’re all out together in a group.
Up until this moment, I thought he did it out of kindness.
But wanting to share a bed with me is not kind.
It’s…something else.
My cheeks redden and I gratefully accept the keycard the receptionist slides in my direction. With it, she hands us a printed layout of the complex. The Beach is a boutique hotel with five private villas and ten suites. The villas and suites are tucked away in the lush jungle, separated from one another by sandy walking paths. There’s a spa and pool and restaurant, but everything is secluded and set apart so that if you wanted to, you could stay near your villa and never see another living soul for the entirety of your stay.
Birds squawk in the trees and cute little lizards skitter across the path as Noah leads me toward ours. It’s the one farthest from the restaurant and lobby complex, so I feel like we’re completely and utterly alone when we reach a white plaster building with a number 5 bolted to a bright aqua-colored door.
He scans his keycard and pushes the door open, holding his hand out for me to enter first.
“Why does it feel like you’re supposed to be carrying me over the threshold?” I tease as I brush past him.