Page 21 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

“No reason,” I finally said. “I ran into him the other day at the office is all.”

“Aww. I’m sure that was hard.”

Not in the least.“It’s fine, Mom. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good at finding my own happiness.”

There was a long pause.

“What?” I asked, confused about her hesitation.

“I want you to be happy,” she said carefully. “I do. Pray for it every morning and night and plenty of times in-between. But it doesn’t seem like you’ve found anything of the sort, because you keep looking inside other people and in these distant places. Anywhere but inside of you or with your family, where you’ll actually find it. Baby girl, this island of yours may seem perfect on the outside, but it could be keeping you from making genuine connections. Just like New York did.”

I wasn’t ready for this conversation. “Mom. If you’re trying to get me to return to Arkansas, it isn’t happening.”

“The people here are real. They care about one another. I may not live there, but New York people are snobbish and impatient. It seems like a lonely way of life.”

“They only seem that way until you get to know them. Look, I have things to do. I have Ty—I mean, I have to get ready for next week’s wedding. It’ll be the biggest one of the summer, and my job depends on it.” She was wrong. I would find happiness with Ty and we’d rebuild our life together in New York, far from the stresses of home. A few short days from now, everything would be fine.

“All right,” Mom said, “but keep one thing in mind. If this job doesn’t work out just like the others didn’t, come home. Your room looks exactly like it did the day you left. We’ll get you back on your feet in no time.”

Yeah, I bet they would. Mom had no idea how close I was to crawling back home on my hands and knees. I had no car, no savings, and barely the clothes on my back, even here.

“Thanks, Mom,” I told her. “You’ve always been there for me, and I appreciate it.”

“You enjoy yourself, all right? Work is good for the heart, but free time is good for the soul.”

“You got it.”

When I hung up, I noticed the rain picking up again. I’d wandered a good couple miles from the resort without even knowing it. Wishing I’d thought to bring an umbrella, I found a bus stop sign and huddled beneath it as my hair got flatter and flatter, sending rain dripping down my face. A group of tourists carrying umbrellas crowded me more with each passing minute.

After what felt like forever, a bus finally pulled up. A sign in the window said CROCODILE TOUR: 3000 colones.

“No other bus,” the driver called. “Only me.”

Ha. Well, Mom was getting her crocodile photos sooner than either of us expected. Maybe this would distract her from her life lessons and guilt trips.

I dug a wad of money from my pocket and handed it to the driver. He dipped his head and motioned to the back. Before I’d even taken two steps, the bus started to move.

Plopping into an empty seat, I looked around. All Asian tourists who ignored my presence. Fine by me.

It took about twenty minutes to arrive at the crocodile place, wherever that was. I filed out with the others and came face-to-face with a nondescript bridge over muddy water.

“A bridge,” I muttered to myself, following the others. This wasn’t what I’d expected. A swamp, maybe, but a random bridge in the middle of the rainforest? I probably could have picked a better excursion for my day off. At least the drizzle had stopped.

The tour guide began to speak in Japanese. Lovely. Well, I didn’t need to know trivia about crocodiles to take photos of them.

I walked closer to the river, stepping softly, and stared under the bridge. It looked like a pile of logs beneath the brown water at first. Then I gave a little gasp and whipped out my phone, zooming in. Sure enough, those logs were actually crocodiles. Only my phone wouldn’t zoom in quite close enough for a good photo. A different angle, then. I rounded the bank and drew closer.

At that moment, a gust of wind sent my shoulder bag flying into the river.

Grumbling, I stepped closer, wincing at the muddy bank that tried to claim my sandals. Then I reached over, holding to a tree for balance and straining to grip the edge of my bag. I managed to close two fingers around it, but the second I started pulling, the water swirled it out of reach again by a few inches.

I looked down. My feet were already half-covered in mud. One more step wouldn’t make any difference.

“Come on,” I growled at my hat, stepping into the murky water. But it gave way beneath my feet. I scrambled for the tree, but the ground under one foot continued to move, keeping me unsteady. I stumbled and nearly fell right into the water—

A strong arm snaked around my waist and yanked me back to shore.

I gasped, finding myself clutched against a firm chest. A man exhaled next to my ear.Musky outdoors. I knew that scent.

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