Page 24 of Resorting to Romance

“We’re meeting at nine in the morning.”

“You are so brave, girlfriend. I’m in awe of you, as always.”

I yawn, feeling the full impact of this day in one fell swoop. Chloe takes that as her cue to stand.

“I’ll be on standby. My phone will be on and in my hand or pocket all morning. Just text me at any point and I’ll show up, or call me after you two meet, or whatever. But don’t ghost me, or I’ll hunt you down.” She points at me to emphasize how serious she is about that last declaration.

I smile up at her, and then I stand, extending my arms. When she pulls me to her, I collapse into a much-needed hug from my best friend.

“Thank you.”

“You’re kidding, right? This is what we do.”

“Still …” I mumble over Chloe’s shoulder while she continues to hold me tight. “There aren’t words for what you mean to me. So, thanks.”

Chloe starts hummingBridge Over Troubled Water,and I try not to smile, but I can’t help myself. We sang that song for our seventh grade talent show, and, to put it bluntly, we stunk. Badly. Like, if that had been a week Simon Cowell was staying on Marbella, he would have been pushing all four Xs and saying things in his condescending British accent like, “That was abysmal,” and “Worst singers in the world,” or “I would have rather listened to a shrieking banshee. You two have given me a headache.”

I can actually sing. Chloe cannot. But in junior high, singing a heartfelt hippy ballad was not in my wheelhouse—at all.

Chloe pulls back from our hug, her eyes dancing with mirth as she shifts from humming to singing—no—beltingout thechorus. She’s like a drunken sailor—a tone deaf sailor who privately hit the stowed casks of rum, and is crooning to anyone and everyone about how she’ll lay herself down like a bridge across the troubled waters of their lives. When she forgets a word, she just improvises, which only serves to add to the absurdity that is my best friend.

When she inserts my name into the song, “Oh, Mila, I’m a bridge! I’m your bridge …” I can’t help myself. I snort. Then we both devolve into a much needed fit of laughter.

I half whisper, “You’ll wake Noah, or my guests.”

To which Chloe answers, “I’m a bridge, baby!”

Which only makes me snort again—more proof that I am so beyond being dating material for anyone, which is super-A-okay by me. I’ve got everyone I need in my life. The last thing I need is a man to complicate matters.

Chloe and I laugh with tears coming out of our eyes. Every time I start to regain my composure, she belts out a new line of the song, hamming it up on purpose. And I double over, gasping for breath, eyes squinted and my whole face aching with the best sort of strain from smiling too hard.

My bestie, ladies and gentlemen. I hit the jackpot.

After spending far too long staring into my closet trying to decide what to wear today, I make my way downstairs to prepare breakfast for our guests and Noah.

My outfit hopefully says,I’m a confident woman who has moved on with her life and is rocking her role as an innkeeper and single mother. If outfits can talk, that is. I’m wearing a cream-on-cream blouse that has layers of soft fabric with a sheer overlay, embossed with flowers and butterflies. I paired that with dark jeans and wedge sandals.

After I dressed, I pulled my hair up, but then let it fall back down. Then up. Then down, and then I looked myself in the eyesin my mirror and gave myself the kind of pep talk I give Noah when he’s about to do something new or scary.

After breakfast, Phyllis shows up to walk Noah to school. I don’t mention my plans for the day. If Phyllis knew I was meeting Brad, I might not make it out the door. I certainly would not make it out alone. “Flora” would call Fauna and Merriweather, and I would have a whole blue-pink-blue-pink fiasco on my hands. Those three bicker over me when situations threaten my wellbeing, and they often do it as if I’m not even in the room. They’d insist on coming along to protect me, or even to talk to Brad. We’d invariably be asked to leave the resort property, possibly thrown out, depending on how far things went. Nope. I’m not talking to my aunts until after I speak with Brad alone.

And now, I’m walking into the Alicante, through the grand double doors, across the marble floor, past palms and the airy decor that says refined beach affluence. I smooth my hands down my thighs as if I’m going on a blind date instead of meeting the man who ripped my heart out seven and a half years ago. My heart beats so rapidly, you’d think I ran here instead of driving the inn’s golf cart. I glance toward the restaurant just as my phone buzzes with a text.

Chloe: No need to answer. I just wanted to send you this.

A GIF of a bridge over a raging stream comes through and I smile a private smile, even chuckling softly to myself. Leave it to Chloe to make me laugh when everything feels heavy and daunting.

I’m too flustered to notice him at first, but then my mind catches up to the fact that Brad is standing just outside Horizons waving nervously at me. He’s wearing pressed jeans and a dry-fit shirt that shows off his affinity for exercise. His blond hair is styled. He used to look so carefree and confident. A typical island boy, without a care in the world except when and where thebiggest swells were hitting.

Today, Brad’s brows are drawn up. He’s not smiling, but he’s watching me intently as I approach him—this man whom I thought I’d spend forever with. The first guy I kissed. My first everything. My only everything.

I take a cleansing breath just before I reach him.

“Good morning, Mila. You look beautiful.”

I shake my head. “Don’t. Okay? Let’s just keep this focused on Noah.”

“Okay.” Brad nods lightly, his lips forming a pensive line.

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