Page 6 of The Tropical Romance Test

“Monopropellant rockets,” Lottie corrects me, and then launches into an enthusiastic report about gravity and force multipliers, while I make vague noises and munch on some papaya.

I stopped trying to keep up with her years ago, at least when it comes to her obsession with space and astronomy. Math homework? Sure. Art project? Sign me up. But the day she came home from the library with a six-part encyclopedia on the science of dark matter and black holes, I realized that the days of being the all-knowing parent were pretty much over.

They grow up so fast when it comes to astrophysics.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, finally pausing for air. “My robotics group is testing our claw design, and then we’re going to a lecture on Mars exploration.”

“You will remember to have some fun, too,” I remind her.

“Roboticsisfun!” Lottie protests. “And you’re the one who’s supposed to be on vacation. Switch off mom-mode, and let other people do the work. Isn’t that what being the boss means?”

She hangs up before I can tell her that it’s not so simple. After fourteen years, mom-mode is coded deep into my DNA. But if I was just able to flip a switch and turn it off…

I think back to Mr. Not-So-Wrong in the airport, and the sizzle of attraction that seemed to spark when I looked into those playful brown eyes.

Now, there’s a man who could flip my switch any day.

I give a rueful smile. What does it say about me that ten minutes of flirty conversation with a stranger in an airport bar is the closest I’ve come to a hot date all year?

That I need to get back on the dreaded dating apps, and actually leave my house on a Friday night.

I shake off the reminder, grab the file of wedding prep Avery sent me, and head out – bumping straight into Anna on the porch, all five-foot-four of perky brunette energy. “I was just coming to look for you.” I greet her, smiling. “Did you get the flowers delivered from the airport to the warehouse OK?”

“They’re chilled and ready for action,” Anna reports, outfitted in cutoffs and a navy tank, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. We worked on a movie together last year, and since she’s the most capable assistant I’ve ever met, I recruited her to come help me handle this madness. Something tells me I’ll need a righthand woman I can count on this week.

And someone to gossip with when things get crazy.

“I never realized it took so much effort and energy just to keep flowers from wilting,” she adds, falling into step beside me as I head back up to the main resort. “We always just use fake ones on set, or CGI them in later with computer effects.”

“That’s because it costs so much,” I confide. “I saw the budget for this week… it’s over a million dollars for the florals alone.”

“Amillion dollars? Onflowers?!” Anna’s screech of disbelief echoes through the jungle. I swear even a flock of birds flies up, startled.

“Shh!” I hush her, laughing. “And yes. Don’t even ask what they’re spending on the private jets to bring all the guests over.”

“Private jets to the eco-friendly resort. Of course!” Anna laughs. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure they’re donating another million bucks to plant a forest of trees somewhere,” I offer. “Even if it’s just to avoid the bad publicity if word gets out.”

Anna shakes her head. “You ever look around and wonder how you wound up here?” she asks.

“All the time!”

We makeour way through the jungle, up to the resort conference center, which has been taken over as HQ for all things wedding prep. Nils and Nella Henrikson are stern, blonde, strapping wedding planners from Denmark, famous for pulling off a certain royal wedding that made headlines around the world. They stand in the middle of the room, dressed in boxy grey overalls, as a dozen minions buzz around, barking into phones and consulting wall-high planners and storyboards, while another dozen huddle silently in the corner, assembling mountains of silver rosettes.

“Wow, things are really coming along!” I exclaim. I greet them with a big smile and cross my fingers that they don’t mind reporting to a complete stranger. “This looks beautiful!”

“Yes. We have done this before, you know.” Nils glares at me, stone-faced.

“Several times. We don’t need abarnepige,” Nella adds. And then they turn on their heel and stalk away.

“Barnepige?” I echo.

“Babysitter!” Anna translates for me, frantically typing on her phone.

Uh oh.

I follow them, speed walking determinedly to catch up. “Obviously, you do incredible work,” I exclaim. “But we all want to make the happy couple, well, as happy as possible! So, if you don’t mind, we’ll just do a quick rundown of the menu and décor for tonight, and I’ll be out of your way.”

---