Page 2 of Changing Tides

As I pass the pedestal mirror in the corner of the room, I admire my tanned shoulders peeking out of the top of the gorgeous palm-print maxi dress. I place a large-brimmed straw hat on my head and pull on my new aviator sunglasses before slipping into the white sandals by the door.

Glancing back at the apartment one more time before shutting and locking the door, I head to the elevator.

The driver takes my suitcase and loads it into the back of the car, and I open the door to the back seat, where I find my best friend, Amiya, waiting.

“Hey, chica. I’m ready to get this tropical party started,” she squeals as she scoots to the left to make room for me.

Thank God she was able to get off work at the last minute to join me. The romantic getaway I planned will now be the girls’ trip of a lifetime. And the best part is that it’s being partially funded by the douche formerly known as the love of my life.

“I’ve been reading the online brochure for the resort.” She taps her phone screen and begins to read, “Welcome to your own private paradise. Our property prides itself on being an exclusive getaway experience, curated just for you. Where you can disconnect from the stress and worries of life, connect to a dream landscape, and enjoy exceptional service with your own personal butler. At The Stanhope Grand Resort, we are allohana.” She looks up from the device and at me. “That means family.”

“I know.”

“The pictures are insane. I can’t believe we get to stay there,” she squeals.

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself getting excited about the trip.

The driver drops us off, and we make our way to the Delta counter to see if I can get the ticket Amiya purchased upgraded.

“I’m totally okay in coach. Just send me back a free cocktail or two,” she says.

“It can’t hurt to ask if they can move you beside me. It’s not like anyone else will be sitting there.”

“But I checked last night, and the cost difference is astronomical,” she informs.

I reach into my bag and pull out the American Express card that has my name on it.

“I don’t want you to pay for it either.”

I grin. “I’m not. This is Conrad’s account. He had a card sent in my name a while ago so I could pick up his dry cleaning, grab takeout, and fill his car up with gas on the occasions he was working late. I think the least he can do since he left me with an apartment that still has five months left on the lease is pay for your upgrade.”

“Oh, it absolutely is the least he can do,” she agrees.

After I explain the situation to the lady at the help desk, she changes Amiya’s seat, and we quickly make our way through security.

We grab a bite to eat and a couple of beers at Phillips Seafood while we wait for boarding.

Amiya flirts shamelessly with our barely legal server as I incessantly check my phone.

Once our glasses hit the table, Amiya reaches across the table and snatches my phone from my fingertips.

“Hey!” I quip.

“Hey nothing. You’re not going to keep staring at this thing, looking for a text from him or cyberstalking his social media accounts while we’re in Hawaii. In less than twelve hours, we’re going to be draped in leis and frolicking in paradise. Conrad fucking Sullivan is not going to ruin this trip any further. Got it?”

I nod.

“Let me hear you say it,” she insists.

“Conrad fucking Sullivan is not going to ruin this trip,” I affirm.

She opens the top of her bag and drops my phone inside.

“You’ll get that back when we return home.”

“Fine,” I huff.

She smiles, picks up her glass, and leans in. “There will be an incredible amount of beautiful men there, and we’re going to find one to occupy your time. You’ll forget all about what’s his name before we return. Here’s to a wicked holiday affair.”

---