Page 23 of Past Due

Chapter Six

I groaned as the shrill tone of an alarm pierced through my restful sleep. My head pounded, and my stomach churned as I sat up and tried to make sense of my surroundings. Across the room, Andres reached for his phone as it vibrated loudly against the floor.

Hungover and dry mouthed, I silently scolded myself for such risky behavior. In the cold light of morning, I could see how dangerous it had been to come back to a hotel room with a man I hardly knew, especially as drunk as I had been. Andres had proven himself to be a stand-up guy, a true gentleman, and I thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t drunkenly stumbled into a night I would regret.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Andres stretched his arms overhead.

“Like I need a CT scan and a morphine IV,” I grumbled, rubbing my aching head.

“You’re not a big drinker, huh?”

“Nope.” I grimaced at the gross taste in my mouth. “I’m a single can of cheap moscato from Target while I binge Netflix murder shows kind of girl.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

Fighting the urge to fall back into bed and snuggle under the covers, I forced myself to get out bed. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Ladies first,” he gallantly replied.

After taking care of business, I tamed my wild hair into a ponytail and splashed some cold water on my face. I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my phone and wallet. “I’m headed back to the hotel.”

Andres checked his watch. “The taxi will be here in ninety minutes or so.”

“It shouldn’t take me that long.”

“We’ll wait for you,” he promised, still leaning back on his hands atop his makeshift pallet.

“Thank you.” Feeling a bit flirtatious, I leaned down and pecked his cheek. “You’re a good guy, Andres.”

He grabbed my hand before I could get very far. “Good enough for dinner tonight in Shkodër?”

“Maybe,” I said coyly and backed away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful,” he called out.

Out in the cool morning, I shivered and picked up the pace. I could only imagine what I looked like as I hurried back to my hotel in my rumpled clothing with my puffy hungover face. Probably like I was doing the walk of shame in a foreign country, I reasoned with embarrassment. Aston was going to love needling me about this story.

Back at my hotel, I quickly showered, changed clothes, stuffed everything into my backpack and checked out. When I met up with Andres and his group, I had guzzled enough water to recover a little. I tossed back some Tylenol from the tiny first aid kit in my backpack and prayed it would kick in before we reached the ferry.

The taxi wasn’t actually a taxi. It was a beat-up old van that wouldn’t have passed an inspection back in Houston. I hesitated before climbing in and finding an empty spot. The tires in the front were nearly bald, and I wasn’t so sure about the brakes either, from the squealing sound they made.

Deciding this was just another part of the adventure, I embraced the danger and made sure to buckle my seatbelt. Andres sat next to me, his longer legs crammed into the space between rows of seats. I was grateful that he didn’t feel the need to talk this early in the morning. Behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I was barely keeping it together as my head throbbed and my stomach lurched.

When we reached the Komani Lake ferry, I had finally gotten a little relief from the Tylenol. As I got out of the van, I spotted a small cart selling coffee and practically ran over to get a cup before boarding the ferry. It was strong and hot and exactly what I needed.

After buying my ticket for the ferry, I boarded with Andres and found a seat on the deck. Eloise and her small group stumbled onto the ferry a short while later. They looked about as bad as I felt, and I was weirdly happy to see that I wasn’t the only suffering.

Glad for my jacket, I zipped it up all the way against the chilly breeze. As the boat pulled away from the dock, the lake became my central focus. Surrounded by the mountains and the shimmering lake, I stopped thinking about my hangover. “My God, this is beautiful!”

“Isn’t it?” Andres agreed, his gaze lingering on the mountains on either side of us. “Every time I think this country cannot get any more perfect, I see something like this.”

After I finished my cup of coffee, I moved to the railing so I could see the jade-colored water up close. It was so bright and clean. Wanting to remember the exact shade of green, I retrieved my camera and snapped some shots. I took a few of the surrounding mountains before posing Andres and his friends for some photos. Eloise called me over to take photos of her group, both with my camera and their many cell phones.

The ferry sailed along the waterway, traveling slowly toward Koman. Surrounded by my new friends, the time passed quickly and pleasantly. Soon enough, the ferry was pulling into our destination, and we disembarked for the next part of the journey—a bus to Shkodër.

I took advantage of the bus trip to make notes in my travel journal. When I had taken off from Houston, I had grand plans of creating a Pinterest worthy journal filled with sketches, snippets of paper and lovely stories. The longer I traveled, the less creative I was with my updates. Oddly, the journal didn’t feel any less special. If anything, it felt less pretentious and more truthful, showcasing what was actually important to me on this trip.

“Which stop are you waiting for?” Andres asked as Shkodër came into view almost two hours after leaving Koman.

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