Page 5 of Room 810

3

Gabriel

Iwokeupthenext morning to the chirping of unfamiliar birds. My brain couldn’t figure out where I was at first, and I blinked up at the slowly rotating fan above my head. I’d spent most of the last year traveling across North America and Europe, but this was… not that. Even the air was different, more humid, like something I couldfeelpass my lips as I breathed it in, taste it on my tongue.

I kicked off the sheet that was tangled around my legs, as though I’d been tossing and turning all night. I’d fallen asleep with the window open, listening to the surf in an attempt to calm myself down, but it seemed like it hadn’t worked, since I still had that same knot of anxiety in my gut.

No matter how hard I tried to focus on the fragrant breeze whisking through the window or the way the sunlight seemed almost bronze as it peeked through the gauzy curtains, my focus just kept coming right back to all my stressors.

Internet. I needed it. Now.

More important than food, even more urgent than a shower, I needed to get my last review written and posted so I could move on. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else until I did that.

Out of habit, I turned around to grab clothes from my suitcase, but then I remembered that my luggage was missing. My eyes trailed over to where I’d left the donated swim trunks and the little stack of gift-shop tees in various shades of neon with bold prints, and my lip curled in disgust. Why did everyone lose their sense of fashion when they traveled to the tropics? There was nothing wrong with gray or taupe, was there? Maybe navy blue? Nope. These colors probably had names like electric tangerine or proton pomegranate.

I nearly shuddered as I picked a t-shirt at random and pulled it on over my head. At least the fabric was soft enough, though a pair of boxers might’ve been nice. I was going commando for the near future, since they didn’t carry underwear in the gift shop. The swim trunks were bright red and had the resort logo on them. They were a bit on the loose side, hanging down to mid-thigh.

When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I winced and had to look away. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I could pretend I didn’t look like a peacock trying to attract a mate. I would normally be embarrassed to be seen in public like this, but everyone I’d seen so far—resort staff included—seemed to be dressed much the same. I would blend right in.

I slid on my loafers and headed toward the resort’s main building, hopefully to speak with the owner about the lack of internet. I meant to meet with him last night, but it was late, and I was in no state of mind to be civil. I was all peopled out.

With the boardwalk beneath my feet, I headed down my private pathway that led toward the beach. I was impressed I couldn’t see any of the other cabins over the thick row of ferns and flowering shrubs. It gave a sense of privacy I hadn’t expected.

As soon as I broke through the foliage, I paused, my breath catching. I hadn’t noticed the view last night, as wound up as I was. This was… well, it was lovely, to put it plainly. Soft, white sand beckoned for me to slip off my loafers.

Later, I promised myself. I was here all weekend. There would be time.

“Good morning,” a woman said as she and her husband walked past, heading toward the main building.

“Oh, yes. Good morning,” I fumbled in reply.

It broke the trance, and when I glanced around, I saw there were other guests, all headed in the direction of what I assumed was the restaurant. I turned to the right and joined the flow of people.

I glanced at the front desk on the way through the open lobby, but there was no staff to be seen anywhere.Well, a man needs to eat, I decided, walking through to the small restaurant. I would find the staff after breakfast. Coffee and toast like I had every morning.

“Sit anywhere,” a woman called, waving to me. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

There weren’t many seats left, but I managed to grab a small table for two in the corner. The wicker chair creaked as I sat.

The woman, with her tan skin and sun-bleached hair, looked like a beach bum through and through. “Hi, my name’s Birdie,” she said in a bubbly trill. She placed a tall glass of pink liquid in front of me, with a straw, a wedge of watermelon, and a little paper umbrella tucked in the top.

“I didn’t order this,” I said, pushing it back her way.

Her grin widened, all white teeth. “I know. It’s on the house. Every guest gets one.”

“Oh…” I didn’t know what to make of the pink concoction. I really didn’t want to drink it, but if it was part of the guest experience, I supposed I needed to partake so I could leave it in the review. “Uh, thank you.”

“Our special this morning is eggs benedict with mango salsa, and we also have—”

“Just toast, please,” I interrupted her. “And coffee.”

Her smile slipped. “Just… toast?”

“Rye, lightly buttered,” I clarified. “And I take my coffee black.”

She didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “Are you sure? I can’t interest you in some fruit salad, maybe? The dragon fruit was picked fresh this morning.”

“No, I’m fine. Perhaps for lunch.”

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