Page 90 of Harper's Holiday Romance
Hey honey, everything good with you?(deletes)
Me
GM, wannagrab breakfast?(deletes)
I established quickly that I couldn’t do it. I locked my phone and turned over, so I was face to face with Sarah’s morning breath. Surprisingly, I was okay with that. Anything was better than facing Julia.
I had three full days left. Julia only had two. Avoiding her would be easy enough in a large resort. Billie and Sarah could shield me. We went to the pool furthest away from where we normally hunkered down. We ate lunch at the beach bar because I knew Julia didn’t like the sand; she wouldn’t eat there.
By midday I had two more text messages, and I felt guilty. She was shacking up with her ex-fiancée, categorising me as some sort of experiment, and I felt guilty. Go figure.
Julia
Can we talk?
Julia
I really would like to talk to you. Is everything okay?
Billie glanced over my shoulder. “Give me that.”
She tucked my phone in her back pocket, and we went back to our sun loungers. I was on edge. What was I supposed to say if I saw her?
I’d gone for optionA—ignore and move on. It felt a little cruel. On one hand, I didn’t owe her an explanation, but on the other hand, I did. She wanted to talk to me, probably to explain what we’d had was great and all, but it was never going to go beyond a holiday romance. Itwas only ever going to push her back in the direction of Natalie. Now they could live happily ever after and plan their future wedding and babies without giving the girl she shacked up with on holiday a second thought.
Urgh. I hated myself for catching feelings. I hated Julia for not reciprocating, and I hated Mexico for creating such a beautiful backdrop which made it easy to fall in—
Nope. I refused to say it.
I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to do anything other than stick my earphones so far in my ears I drowned out every last bird tweet and replaced it with the sweet sound of Brandy’s voice on the legendaryAfrodisiacalbum.I hummed the lyrics until the humming made me cough, then I drank a cocktail and repeated the cycle.
The queue for the marquesita stand was six deep. The hard waffle and crepe combination dowsed in Nutella and strawberries had become my new favourite dessert. I needed something to take away the yellow curry taste from dinner. My tolerance to spicy food was at an all-time low in recent months. I tried. I really did.
I’d attempted to move up to one pepper on the spice scale, but even then my mouth felt like someone had covered it in gasoline and struck a match.
The strawberry and gin fizz drink soothed my throat to a degree. It was my fourth drink, so I was hoping it would soon soothe my heart too. Julia had refrained from messaging me again; three was enough. I respected that. She had respect for herself. She wasn’t about to chase after someone who she didn’t want in the first place.Why would she go out of her way to tell me she was getting back with her ex.
“Oh my God; is that a cat?” The small dark creature skulked its way over to the bin directly in my sight line.
“Wait, is it a badger?” The shadows from the trees made it difficult to see clearly. “I think it’s a badger!”
“Where?” Billie asked.
The creature was bigger than a cat. It walked over on all fours with its back end higher than the front. The grey colour became more prominent the closer it got to us.
“Oh, look a raccoon, ” the American woman in front tried to get her husband’s attention.
It was a raccoon. Cool!
It made its way over to the brown bin by the food truck. The scene was comical in a way; all I saw was a glimpse of grey raccoon ass hanging out of a bin opening; it dropped in and then clambered its way back out with a napkin.
“He’s so cute,” I said. “Does he look skinny to you?” I asked Billie and Sarah. My knowledge on raccoons was rather limited.
“Maybe a little,” Sarah replied.
“Oh, now I feel bad for him. He’s hungry.” He climbed from one bin into the next foraging for food.
One couple after another stopped until a crowd of gathering tourists surrounded the raccoon like he was the evening’s entertainment.
