Page 73 of Carnal

I assumed wrong.

He's different.

How did I never see this?

"Sir, you don't need to carry that," Gulliver continues.

"Chill, Gulliver. We're almost inside anyway," Tristano orders.

Gulliver finally caves. "Yes, Mr. Marino."

"You can call me Tristano. Seems wrong to be so formal in the Caribbean, don't you think?" he questions.

Gulliver scrunches his face. "Umm..."

Tristano reaches in front of me and turns the doorknob. We all step inside a small entryway, and he pats Gulliver on the back, asking, "You want a drink before you head back?"

Gulliver's eyes widen. "No, thank you, sir."

"Okay. Suit yourself," Tristano replies.

"Can I show you around your cottage?" Gulliver asks.

"Please," I answer, touched that Tristano is being so cool but also sensing Gulliver's panic.

He releases a tense breath. "Thank you, ma'am. Please follow me."

He holds another door open, and I step through then freeze, exclaiming, "Wow!"

Soft Caribbean music fills the air. Teal, orange, and white give color to the walls, drapery, and other decor. A tranquil waterfall covers an entire wall. Turquoise and other blue tiles mimic what I imagine the ocean looks like. An oversized king bed faces a glass wall. A small dining and living area flow into the bedroom. The bathroom boasts a two-person shower, jacuzzi tub, and dual sinks.

"Can I unpack your belongings?" Gulliver questions.

"Nah. We got it," Tristano replies.

More anxiety floods Gulliver's expression. "Are you positive, sir? It will only take a few minutes. I would be happy to assist."

"No. We—"

"We'd be happy to have you help us," I interject.

Tristano furrows his eyebrows. "We would?"

"Yes. Let the man do his job," I assert, sensing that Gulliver might have a heart attack if he leaves without helping.

Relief floods his face. He replies, "Thank you, ma'am," then rolls the suitcases into the walk-in closet.

Tristano opens the fridge and pumps his hand in the air. "Yes!"

"What?"

He takes two Red-Stripes out of the fridge, sets them on the counter, and opens a drawer. He shuffles through it, pulls a bottle opener out, pops the tops of the beer, then hands me one.

"I don't drink beer," I state.

"Why not?"

I shrug. "Never really got into it."

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