Page 88 of Stuck in Paradise with You

There’s no phone signal and no Wi-Fi to get word out to anyone off the island, other than a general note to say we’re all accounted for by radio. We have no idea of the extent of the damage elsewhere but, thankfully, it seems there were no deaths across the islands. Amazing, really.

With Troy, as the only qualified chef, taking the lead and the rest of us sitting by candlelight in the main lounge and dining area, helping out as best we can, we all share a meal of pasta and various garlic breads. Nothing extravagant, though Troy somehow manages to make us forget that we aren’t eating in a fancy restaurant. It’s almost romantic, with the dim lights, medicinal wine, and everyone telling nostalgic tales.

The mood is strange; there’s a heaviness in the back of people’s minds yet lightness in speech, and laughter. There’s a definite sense that we’re putting a front on things for the kids, even for one another. Yet we really feel like a family. A community. With a sense of shared experience and appreciation for life. In a bizarre twist, it’s one of the happiest meals I’ve had.

Through it all, Carrie is never far from my side. She’s afraid of what is or could be between us. I get it. Hell, me too. But I saw it in her eyes in that concrete shell, and even if she can’t articulate it or won’t let herself feel it yet, I know she feels something deep for me. Whether it’s love, I don’t know yet. But the way I feel about her tonight might be strong enough for both of us.

After dinner, Alisha, Ella and Lola leave to take the little humans to bed. By the time they return, Joe has poured the rest of us each a strong drink. The kind that takes the sting out of the day much better than the wine we shared over dinner. But after one more drink with my friends, old and new, the fatigue of the day, the last few days, kicks in. I yawn from my spot on the sofa in the lounge and glance to Carrie. I’ll stay up as long as she wants to, then I’ll make sure she’s set up in her new pod and that she’s feeling okay.

I find her already looking my way, her drink barely touched and set on a coffee table next to the chair where her legs are snugly curled beneath her. She looks exhausted.

‘Shall we get you set up for bed?’ I ask her.

‘I’d appreciate that.’

Leaving takes ten minutes, everyone hugging and whispering words of friendship and love. It warms me to the core the way my friends and closest confidantes have welcomed Carrie into our fold. The way they seem to genuinely care about her. It’s not as if I’ve sung her praises over the years. Not that I’ve slandered her either, but Joe and I have shared some late-nightdrinks, had some heart-to-hearts in thatMad Menkind of way over a single malt or two and I’m sure, on reflection, that I’ve not always spoken generously about Carrie. How could I have? I didn’t know our full story until this week. I had to think of self-preservation.

Yet Joe arranged for her to be here and as mad as I am about that, and that she got caught up in Hurricane Isabel, we’re through the storm now, coming out the other side, and part of me wonders what it was that Joe saw or heard to make him bring her here.

I’m not sure why I do it but once I’ve spoken to everyone, agreed we’ll make an early start on repairing what we can tomorrow, and wished them a safe, sound sleep, I hold out my hand for Carrie. She stares at it before slipping her palm into mine, and I lead us out into the night, using a torch as a guide, though unbelievably, the sky is clear enough for the moon to be lighting our way along the now treacherous path.

Rather than being in the pod next door to mine, Carrie’s new pod is two away from me. I’m reminded just how lucky we were today as we pass the disaster of her old room. Carrie’s fingers tighten around mine, as if she’s having the same thought.

It feels right to be walking hand-in-hand. At the same time, strange to let go when we arrive at her new bedroom for the night. We brought down her luggage earlier and set up a couple of candles ready to light inside.

We each light a candle, and on my part, do so hating the thought of Carrie spending the night alone. It doesn’t feel right, and when I turn to tell her, she’s already right behind me.

‘Carrie, I don’t?—’

‘Luke, would you mind?—’

‘Sorry, you go.’

‘No, you go.’

We share a tight laugh. ‘Are you sure you want to stay here, alone?’ I ask. ‘We could move you up to the main house; I’m sure there’s another space. Or?—’

‘Or?’

Is she suggesting what I’m thinking?If she were, it would stop me from having palpitations over it right now.

‘Stay with me,’ I blurt, nervously. ‘I can take the floor, or the lounge chair. I don’t mean— I just don’t think you should be on your own tonight. It’s been a big day and?—’

‘I’d like that.’ She smiles softly. It’s there in her eyes. God, I’ve missed that look. ‘Thank you. I’m sure we’re adult enough to share a bed the size of a planet without regressing to teenagers on prom night.’

I chortle. ‘Speak for yourself.’

Her laughter bursts from her and after what has been one of the longest, most draining days of my life, it’s such a welcome sound.

We blow out the candles, head back to my pod with Carrie’s luggage, clean off using a bucket of water from the tank under the pod, and eventually, shattered, slip under the covers.

Even though she’s wearing silk shorts and a cami and looks incredible; despite the fact I’m only wearing boxer briefs; and though we are lying in the same bed, beneath the same white sheet we made love on last night, we’re so exhausted that even if my hormones screamed at me to seduce this implausibly beautiful woman, I wouldn’t have the energy.

Which is perfect, really, because this is the start of me showing Carrie that we aren’t just about sex.

We lie side by side, facing each other, each resting our heads on a hand, a reflection of each other.

‘It’s been a day,’ she whispers.

---