Page 6 of Beached Wedding

Fox took the key fob and walked to the rear of the car, popped the trunk and left his duffel bag inside it.

“Hey!” he called to an attendant. “I’ll give you ten bucks for your hat. Twenty,” he upped when the kid hesitated. Fox patted his own butt. His shoulders tensed. “Fuck me. Where’d I leave my wallet?”

“You gave it to me.” I dug it out of my bag. The rental clerk hadn’t been happy about my signing Fox’s name to the paperwork, but with Fox rushing outside to gasp like a carp and a line of people waiting, standard procedure hadn’t been the priority.

Fox found a twenty, exchanged it for the ball cap, and jammed the hat on his head. He shaped the brim as he dragged it low over his eyes, then he climbed into the driver’s seat long enough to retract the roof. By the time I hit Send, he was walking around to the passenger side. He reclined his seat as I settled behind the wheel. I was pretty sure he was asleep before I’d finished adjusting the mirrors.

I didn’t mind him passing out on me. I needed time to process. Before I pulled out of the spot, I checked once more for a message from Shane.

Nothing. Also very Shane. He didn’t like emotional confrontations or talking about feelings. What man did? Fox was probably right. Shane was likely stacking surfboards and mates into his jeep, heading off-grid. That’s what he’d done when a flash-flood had taken out the shop’s storage room. He’d flown to the west coast and hadn’t come back until the water had gone down and he was mentally ready to deal with the mess. The two times he and I had had a heated disagreement, he’d done the same thing, leaving me to wonder for days where we stood.

We hadn’t had a fight this time, though. Everything had seemed fine until...this.

I glanced at Fox. With a sigh that was more of a whimper, I started looking for the exit.

FOX

“I’m okay. Just lost.”

The sound of Ashley’s voice dragged me back to consciousness.

I edged the brim of my hat up to see her accepting a tissue from a woman holding a toddler. The boy was staring at me without any self-consciousness, the way little nippers did before they were taught it was rude. As if I had something to teach him about human behavior, which I most definitely did not. Very poor example here, kid. Look away.

For some reason, Ashley had driven us into a family neighborhood. Shrubs bloomed in pinks and yellows, palm trees rustled overhead and a dog barked in the distance.

She blew her nose and tried to laugh off her tears. “I’m having a bit of a day.”

The woman eyed me with suspicion.

“What’s going on?” I brought my seat upright. I hadn’t slept long, maybe an hour, but it was enough to make a difference. My head was splitting, but some of that was caffeine withdrawal. I hadn’t dared accept anything on the plane, but now my stomach whispered that grease and salt would be greeted politely.

“I took the wrong direction out of Honolulu. Then I saw signs that said I was heading to the marine base so I got off the highway.” Ashley’s eyes were red and her chin crinkled. “Now I’m lost.”

Hell yes, she was. My heart stumbled as I looked into her forsaken gaze. I tried to find words, but the ones I needed to say would have to wait a little longer.

“I would love a coffee.” I appealed to the stranger. “Is there anywhere nearby?”

She directed us to a grocery store with a take-away counter a few blocks away.

“Thanks. We’ll use the GPS to find our way from there,” I said, fishing for my phone.

Ashley smiled weakly at the woman and continued up the road.

“I knew there was a way to get back to the resort on this side of the island. I thought all I had to do was keep the water on my right and I’d get there eventually. It was a dumb idea.”

“It’s okay. I like the scenic route.” I was dreading telling Shane’s parents that things had gone off-book. Getting lost on the way to doing that suited me really well.

Ashley parked and came into the store with me, veering down an aisle while I made for the deli counter where I ordered a breakfast panini. I didn’t even know what time it was, but a few minutes later, I was washing down extra-strength Tylenol with a syrupy orange electrolyte replacement, waiting on my sandwich and a gallon of red-eye coffee, when Ashley appeared beside me.

She held a basket with a bottle of premixed marguerites.

I grimaced in rejection.

“I’m entitled,” she said sullenly.

She was, but, “at least get real tequila. That premixed stuff is a recipe for flushing your sunglasses.”

Her mouth twitched. “Voice of experience?”

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