How to Honeymoon Alone

Kaelie’s auburn hair is up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a blue dress. She looks lovely, as always, and cautious, like never. Every time I’ve met her, she’s been a gusher.

“Eden?” she says. “Hi! Wow, I’m so sorry to bother you like this. I just can’t believe I found you here.”

“Kaelie!” I say. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, I know, isn’t it just the craziest? I should have texted you and let you know, but I wasn’t sure… well.” She waves a hand. “You know. The whole thing is odd.”

“Right,” I say. “Odd.”

She glances at Phillip. He’s looking at her with an expression that makes it clear she’s interrupting. It’s the unfriendliest I’ve ever seen him look.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

His hand is still on mine.

I clear my throat. “Sorry. Phillip, this is Kaelie. We know one another from back home.”

He extends his free hand. “Phillip.”

“Kaelie,” she says and shakes his hand over the glass of wine on the table. “Pleasure. How’s the trip been, Eden? Having fun?”

I smile wide. “Yes. The island is stunning and so’s the resort. You’re here for work?”

She nods. “Yes, my boss wanted a feature on the Caribbean, and I’m here to scoop out the Winter Resort. Apparently, the Winter Corporation is looking to open more locations like this worldwide.”

“Oh, I hadn’t heard.”

She nods again. Shifts from one foot to the other and smiles. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your guys’s dinner. I’ll be around on the island for a few more days before I need to head to St. Lucia. How about we grab a drink before I leave?”

“Yes,” I hear myself say. “Sure. You’ve got my number?”

“Sure do,” she says. Her eyes flick down to my hand intertwined with Phillip’s, and I know she’s burning with curiosity. “See you later, Eden. It was nice meeting you.”

Phillip nods, the tiniest dip of his head.

She heads back in the direction of the bar.

“Oh my God,” I mutter.

“That was painfully polite.”

“Yes, but I’ll get the Spanish Inquisition if we meet for drinks. And when she knows about us, whatever our pretend us is, everyone back home will, as well.”

His hand tightens briefly around mine. He’s looking at something over my shoulder. “She’s still glancing over at us every so often.”

“What are the odds that her agency sends her to Barbados at the exact same time as I’m here?”

“Slim to none,” he says. “If I argued that in court, the jury would draw their own conclusion.”

“But you don’t go to court.”

He smiles. “No, I don’t. Because I’m good at my job… and also because I’m a corporate lawyer.”

“So humble,” I tease.

“False modesty is a sin.”

“Thank you,” I say, tapping my finger against the back of his hand. They’re still intertwined. “For this.”

Serious eyes meet mine. There’s something about being enveloped in his focus. It makes me feel seen and heard on a level I don’t think I ever been before.

Like whatever I have to say is interesting.

“How did your families handle the breakup?”

“Not well,” I say. “My mother used to knit him a new sweater every Christmas.”

He grimaces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m an only child, you know? My parents thought of him as a son.” I give a half chuckle. “My mother had her own breakup with him.”

“I have to hear that story.”

Thinking about it makes me smile a bit. “Well, she went to his house and told him that she was disappointed in him, that he had hurt her, too. And then, she dramatically unraveled the arm of the sweater she’d already knitted him for next Christmas.”

Phillip’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“Oh yes. My mom’s awesome and crazy like that. My dad, well, he turned into the exterminator.”

“Punched the dipshit?”

“Oh God, no, he would never. No, he made sure to scrub our entire lives of any mention of Caleb. From one day to the next, my father had removed all pictures of him from the photo albums and had thrown out the air fryer Caleb bought them for their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

“Poor air fryer,” Phillip says. “Civilian causalities.”

“It really was a war crime. It made incredible fries.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “So what do your parents do?”

“My mom’s the chattiest librarian you’ll ever meet, and my dad’s the detail-oriented accountant,” I say. “They’re great people.”

“They sound like it,” he says. “She really unraveled her knitting in front of him?”

“On his very doorstep,” I say. “My mother could have been an actress in another life.”

“How about Caleb’s family?” He nods his head toward the bar. “His… parents and cousins?”

I sigh. “I haven’t had a lot of contact with them since the breakup. I sort of… well.”

The weeks right after I had found out aren’t ones I really want to remember. Being sad is one thing, but feeling like a foolish idiot on top of it makes for a powerful cocktail.