“Now, this pathetic moody funk of yours will infect the passengers, and that’s bad business too. So, I’m kicking you out of here for the day. Goodbye. Shoo. Farewell. Aloha.”
He’s dead right—kicking me out is a very good idea.
18
Skyler
Caleb isn’t here, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
Rather, I do.
Disappointed. Confused.
But I’m not sure what that means in relation to my resolve from last night.
Mrs. Wainwright and I cross the beach—this one rockier than the ones marked for swimming. “Look!” she says, and we stop. “There’s one sunbathing on a rock.”
I smile at the sight of the turtle. “It’s funny because you don’t think a turtle sunbathing is something you ever want to see in your life, then you see it, and all you can think is ‘How did I ever live without seeing a turtle sunbathing?’”
The older woman absolutely beams at me. “Yes! That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“That turtle is actually known as Don Juan,” says Brady, Caleb’s sub. He introduced himself to us all on the bus.
I look from the turtle to the guide, skeptical. “Don Juan. Is that so?”
“I call BS,” adds Mrs. Wainwright.
Brady raises his left hand, the right one over his heart. “Swear. He’s fathered, I kid you not, one hundred baby turtles.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Huh. Single-handedly doing his part to un-endanger the species.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it,” Brady says.
We watch a while longer, looking to spot another.
“Oh!” I gasp, and point at the waves. “Look! A baby turtle swimming!”
We watch it as long as we can and all sigh happily. “I officially declare turtles the coolest ever.”
Mrs. Wainwright says, “I second it.”
“Third it,” adds Brady.
I glance at my companions and then back out to the water. “Also, at the risk of being cheesy and TMI with strangers, this is exactly what I needed to be doing today. Does that make sense?”
“It’s not TMI,” Mrs. Wainwright decrees. “It makes perfect sense, and it’s just as I expected.”
“What?” I glance at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Brady interrupts, clearing his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me for a second . . .”
Then, Brady walks away.
19
Caleb
I don’t lounge in a hammock.
Or chill out as I watch the waves.
Instead, I swim. And as I push through the ocean, I think.
About the last few days.
About the past.
About rules.
I think about all the walls I’ve erected. The boundaries I’ve set in place to protect my business.
But really, to protect me.
To protect my heart.
Trouble is, they didn’t truly work. My heart’s already in this. Crazy thought, but so it goes. A few days with Skyler and I already know—I want more days with her.
I want flights, I want planning, I want the big if.
I want to know if she thinks we can be more than a fling, since I’m pretty sure we can be a whole lot more.
When I get out of the ocean, I dry off, and head for my Jeep, driving toward another swath of beach. After I cut the engine, I make my way quickly along the sand, as my phone flashes with Brady’s name. I answer right away, but before I can get out a hi, he says, “Dude. You’re a dumbass if you let this woman leave. End of argument.”
That’s quite an about face. “Who is this? What are you doing with Brady’s phone?”
“Don’t listen to the stuff I said before. She’s cool. She loves turtles, and she’s chatting with this other woman, and she gets along with everyone, and . . . she loves turtles,” he says, sounding enchanted for me.
I feel enchanted too. With Skyler.
“Told you she was great. I spent the morning going for a swim in the ocean, and all I could think was how foolish it would be to let her get on that plane without telling her something I just realized,” I say, sparks of excitement whipping through me as I picture Skyler, as I imagine reconnecting with her.
Telling her what’s on my heart and mind.
“You better get here soon, since we’re almost done.”
I grin as I walk past rock and sand, around a curve on the beach. “Good thing I’m walking toward her now.”
Actually, it feels like a great thing.
20
Skyler
I look for Brady, but he’s gone. When did he leave? I didn’t notice him take off.
But I can’t miss the man walking toward me across the sand.
Caleb.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Can we talk for a moment?” He glances at Mrs. Wainwright, then back at me, gesturing over to a rocky outcropping. “Maybe over there where it’s a little more private?”
I think the older woman snorts, but I’m too curious about what Caleb has to say to do anything but agree to his suggestion.
We stroll away from the others without talking—not until he stops to face me.