by Ember Leigh
She laughs weakly, but it seems forced. She looks over my shoulder toward the resort. “They’re not even hiring. But I don’t want to go back there.”
I squeeze her hips, ready to change the subject. I shouldn’t have gone there. Couldn’t even say why I did. “Ready to head to the reception? More mayhem awaits us.”
“Please, God—no more accidental mushroom doses or feral hog interruptions.”
“There’s still time for someone to get arrested,” I whisper against her lips, “or all the food to come out burnt. Just be optimistic, okay?”
She dissolves into laughter against me, and we laugh like this, lips touching but not truly kissing, moving with the echoes of our amusement. She’s the only type of girl I’ve done this type of thing with. The only one I’ve dared to open up to. And for as scary as it is…it’s been going okay.
Still doesn’t mean I should do it anymore.
In fact, the night ahead of us reminds me that it’s time to start distancing myself. We’ve got two more nights together before we both fly far away. Two nights is nothing, but it’s also everything. At the rate we’ve been diving into each other, two nights is the same as six months. If I want to make it off the island unscathed—and I always make it out unscathed—then I need to begin my detachment plan.
It’s just that Nova makes it so damn hard.
We walk hand-in-hand back to her camera bag, where we pack up the lenses. Nova fishes out her phone and frowns down at the screen, swiping tentatively.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. But after a few more moments of silent staring at her phone, I poke again.
“You look like you’re reading very bad news.”
She lets out a sigh. “I just got some weird texts from my friend Jimmy.”
My insides do that accordion thing where they crumple up all tight like my organs are about to eject themselves. Jimmy is the guy who I thought Nova was with. And even though she assured me that she’s not, I still don’t exactly love that he’s texting her right now.
And I love even less that I fucking care.
“And?”
She glances up at me, confusion in her gaze. “He asked for the resort address.”
I go ahead and ask the obvious question. “Why does he need the address?”
“He’s probably looking it up on Google Maps or something.”
“Why would he be looking it up on Google Maps?”
“To live vicariously, I guess? Haven’t you ever spied on a random bed and breakfast in Romania on Google Maps?”
“No, but…I’ll add that to my to-do list,” I tell her. “If you ask me, sounds like ol’ Jimmy is on the island.”
She laughs so long and sarcastically that it makes her point without saying. Still, she adds, “That’s one thousand percent not possible.”
“Why, was he banned from travelling to Aruba?”
“No, he’s just…not a traveler. I doubt he even has his passport.”
“Did you give him the address?”
“Of course I did,” she says. “I’m not going to keep him from checking out the resort on Google Maps.”
Part of me can’t believe it, but she seems so convinced of his intentions, that I have to go with the flow. After all, what do I know? And why do I care this much? As we walk back to the boardwalk, I realize my fists are balled, as if Nova just told me she’d been approached by a creep at night. And given the fact that I’m supposed to be detaching as of immediately, this is not good news.
On the boardwalk, a man approaches us, a hotel employee I’ve seen lingering near the edges all day. It seemed like he’d been watching us, and maybe I was right. He offers a hand as he comes up.
“The incredible photography duo,” he says in a smooth baritone. “Pleasure to meet you. My name is Edward. I work for the resort event planning office, and I’ve been keeping an eye on the wedding today.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nova says with a little smile.
“Would the two of you be able to swing by my office tomorrow? I don’t want to keep you from the celebration tonight. There’s something I want to chat about before you leave.”
Nova swings her gaze to me, question marks and exclamation points there. “Uh, sure?”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I finish for her.
“Awesome. You two have a great night. And just ask for me in the lobby. They’ll show you right where to find me.” He passes Nova a business card before he walks away, whistling. She looks at the card incredulously.
“I wonder what that was about?”
“He probably wants copies of these pictures,” I say. “Or maybe to feature the wedding in promotional material?”
“Either of those would be fantastic,” she says as we drift toward the reception. As soon as we step onto the patio, the festivities sweep us away. Stringed globe lights crisscross the space, but they’re not lit up yet since the evening is still blazing orange and red all around us. The caterers finally got their shit together, unless they just overlooked the Noordvak wedding altogether, and servers bring around appetizers on small trays while everyone chats and laughs and poses for selfies against a nearby backdrop. A small band is playing reggae-style tropical music, and it’s hard not to immediately start moving with the beat.
Nova and I set our things down at the table reserved for the bridal party, and she’s immediately swept away by Amelia for a heart-to-heart that looks like it involves lots of happy tears. I head for the bar to grab myself a beer and a Sauvignon Blanc for Nova. I’ve seen her drinking it enough times, it seems like a safe bet. I wonder what her favorite beer is. Whether she’s into IPAs. And I already know at least three solid breweries and wineries I’d love to show her, if we’re ever back in the US on the West Coast together.
Stop that, Weston. This ends Monday. Remember?
As soon as I get my beer, I’ve downed half of it. I smile and nod my way through the people who have come to feel so familiar after so few days together.
“Jimmy?”
Nova’s sharp squeak makes me stop in my tracks. I turn, following the sound of her voice. She’s across the patio, near the table where we left our things, one palm pressed to her chest.
And there he is. The guy who very clearly was not just using Google Maps. The illustrious Jimmy.
He’s got the look of a brute who’s dressing up on his own for the first time. His button-up is untucked, his hairstyle is overgrown, and from the way he’s watching Nova, I can tell he’s in fucking love with her.
My stomach turns to an acid knot, and I’m walking that way without even deciding to. I need to keep an eye on this train wreck, or I need to intervene. One of the two will happen. A million questions create a logjam in my throat as I storm across the patio. First and foremost being confusion: Which one of us is Nova playing here?
But the answer is apparent as soon as I set my beer down on the table. Jimmy’s holding his arms out because he wants a hug, and Nova is grimacing every step of the way.
I’m at her side as soon she pulls away from him. I sling my arm over her shoulder to make my point.
“Who’s the new arrival?” I ask, looking down at her.
Her eyes turn into green saucers, and when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out.
Jimmy doesn’t look enthused.
“Weston! This is my friend Jimmy, from back home.” She sweeps her arm in his direction, as though there was any doubt which one he was. “We play pool together a few nights a week. Jimmy, meet my friend Weston.”
I stick out my hand, eager for Jimmy to even fucking try to assert dominance. What would Nova have done if I wasn’t here? I’m getting the sensation that she played the nice card a little bit too often with this guy. And whatever signals she’s sending out, he’s not reading them.
“Pleased to meet you.” His handshake is limp, which annoys me. To Nova, I say, “Aren’t you going to give me a lead-in?”
Part of her spell breaks. �
��What?”
“Like, ‘Weston—he excels at partner yoga and knows how to find the best sunsets.’”
When Nova sends me a tight little grin, I know she gets what I’m saying. I jerk my chin toward Jimmy. “What brings you to Aruba?”
His brows draw together. “I came to surprise Nova.”
Again, the doubt flashes through me. Nova could have been lying to me, but somehow, I just don’t think this is the case. Call me head over heels, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t misread her this entire time. Jimmy? Jimmy looks like a guy to misread things.
“At a wedding you weren’t invited to?” I ask, my tone much sharper than I intended. Oops.
Jimmy throws his arms out to his sides. “It’s a resort. Who cares?”
“I’m…shocked, Jimmy,” Nova says carefully. “Why would you make a trip like this without saying something first?”
“I told you. I wanted to surprise you.” Jimmy’s gaze drags over my arm, where my hand is dangling perilously close to Nova’s cleavage. Exactly the plan. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
Nova’s confused—I can feel it in every inch of her body. She doesn’t know how to handle this situation, because it went from weird to sticky in about five seconds flat.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask in a low voice. I’m not trying to flex in front of Jimmy. Well, not entirely. But I want Nova to feel safe. I don’t know this guy. She says he’s a friend, but to me, my Dude Senses are telling me it only takes him about two Busch Lights before he starts pushing his chest out.
“It’s fine,” Nova says, looking up at me with a tight smile. She’s all strained edges and bewilderment; I can see it flashing in her eyes, feel it pouring off of her. Does this guy feel it? Does he even fucking know Nova?
She squeezes my hand before she heads off, Jimmy on her trail, leaving me with my tense thoughts. Jimmy glances over his shoulder at me as they walk away, something dark and threatening there. And of course I respond. Of course I start following him, because the longer I stare at him, the more things are making sense.
This guy is trying to pick up Nova, but little does he know, Nova is mine.
Chapter 24
NOVA
My legs have turned into butter as I lead Jimmy off the patio and down the sidewalk lined with sculpted bushes. This will afford us some privacy, at least, as I figure out what in the actual fuck he’s doing in Aruba.
As I sink onto a bench and try to find the words to clarify this clusterfuck, I can’t help but think that I was right. We had too good of a week. All the mishaps coalesced into one giant shit volcano. And just when I thought I’d dodged all the ash and lava from the explosion and we’d all made it to the other side with amazing memories and plenty of disasters averted, well…here’s Jimmy.
Acting like he’s about to get down on one knee.
“Did you reserve a room here? How did you even get here? Do you like…have a passport?” These are only the first questions I have for him. Jimmy sinks down onto the bench beside me, that same defeated sigh he always uses that sounds exactly like my father escaping him.
Like he’s fifty-five instead of twenty-five.
“I’d been planning this for a while. And I’ve actually had my passport for a few years. I went to Canada with the boys for a hunting trip.”
I’m not sure what to be bewildered by first. The fact that Jimmy has been to Canada and I haven’t, or the fact that he’s been planning to surprise me in Aruba.
“I don’t understand,” I sputter. “I…I thought we were just friends.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t it obvious I’ve been wanting to take things further?”
The sound of approaching voices makes me sit upright. Elliot and Keko have stepped out of the reception area, just barely visible at the end of the sidewalk. They’re chatting lightheartedly, though I can’t hear what they’re talking about. The edge of Weston’s body comes into view, making everything inside me warm and fuzzy all at once.
“Jesus. That guy again,” Jimmy spits. He leans forward, calling down the pathway to Weston. “She didn’t want you to tag along, buddy.”
“Jimmy,” I say, pressing a hand to his forearm. “He’s just talking to his friends.”
“He’s fucking watching you. I don’t know what right he thinks he has. Are you with him?”
The question knocks me off center. I don’t know how to answer it other than yes, but it feels so wrong to say that when Weston might vehemently disagree. But God, all I want to say is yes.
Yes, he’s with me. Yes, we’re planning on moving back to New York state together. Yes, he and I will be opening our own photography studio someday.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“How can you not know?”
“I don’t understand why it’s anybody’s business.” My cheeks are heating up, and the onslaught of emotions is suddenly too much to bear. I’m equal parts mortified and bewildered. This feels like a joke, one that nobody is in on.
“I don’t know why your parents thought this was a good idea,” Jimmy mutters, running his thumb back and forth over his cracked knuckles.
“My parents?”
He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “They said I should show you I like to travel. Well here I am. Overpriced hotel, shitty roads, and weird bathrooms.”
I want to cover my face with my hands and groan until the cows come home, but I don’t think Jimmy would take that very well. And really, he shouldn’t. Because this has been one of the more illuminating moments of my entire life, the lightning crack realization that going for the safe guy just because he seems fine and stable enough is unequivocally a bad idea.
I cannot believe my parents encouraged Jimmy to come here. But maybe they did me a favor. Maybe seeing Jimmy outside of his natural habitat is the final nail in the coffin.
I can’t settle. Not for Jimmy. Not for anyone who doesn’t share this pulsing need to move and see things. Not when I’ve got these longings bursting in my chest. Not with all the pictures I have yet to take. Not when there is a path for me alone to carve, even if I’m not sure where the next fork in the road is.
“You shouldn’t have come, Jimmy,” I say softly, even though it hurts to say. I’m used to making things pleasant around him. Letting him think he’s funny. Meeting him in his comfort zone—the pool hall, the bar, his backyard for bonfires with friends. “I didn’t think you were serious when you said you wanted to visit. I mean, just last month you told me you hated flying.”
“Yeah, well, I flew for you.” He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “This was all for you.”
Well, hello, guilt! This is my most well-known companion on this little journey known as life. And with these words, Jimmy reminds me just how often he lobs it at me. The words he used here remind me of the words he used the night I didn’t want to go to the drive-in theater. The words he used when I told him I was even planning this trip to Aruba, when he said my money would be better spent in the state of New York.
It just ties into a long thread of ways that I’m wrong in life. Who’s guilty for wanting more than what her parents expected for her? This girl right here. Anyone feeling guilty for not liking a perfectly fine man who just doesn’t spark with her? Also this girl. What about someone who feels guilty simply for thinking about spending money when she and all her relatives are buried in debt?
Surprise! Also me.
But if there’s one thing Weston was right about—I can carve out the life of my dreams. Even if it just starts with not stepping into a relationship with a guy I only sorta like, simply because he’s available and makes good money.
I might be ready for a relationship, but I’m not desperate. And dammit, that might be the only upper hand I have right now.
An awkward silence settles between us. I need to pull myself out of this, and fast. Because if guilt serves any purpose, it’s eroding logic and rationality. If I sit here stewing much longer, I’m liable to tell J
immy we’ll see where things go once I get back, just because I feel like I owe him somehow for the trip down here. Since, you know, being a woman is not complicated or confusing at all.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” The words barely make it past my dry lips. “I didn’t ask you to come. We aren’t on the same page, apparently.”
I stand, ready to end this conversation. Because his being here is not my responsibility. I am here to celebrate my best friend getting married, and to get drunk. That is it.
And I plan to continue that ASAP.
Weston begins making his way down the sidewalk, clearly taking my movement as a sign that he can approach. I watch him come, all my insides going melty and fangirl-ish. His arm slides around my waist once he’s back at my side, and Jimmy just scoffs.
“What are you, her guard dog?”
“I don’t know, is there something I need to guard her from?” Weston shoots back.
The air draws tight between them. Jimmy drags his unamused gaze back to me.
“You really had to pick a douche like this? You’re better than this loser.” He jerks his chin toward Weston. “What do you even do? Live off Mommy and Daddy’s money? Maybe you sell drugs on the beach. Just kind of drift along until you panhandle enough money to eat?”
Weston’s arm drops from my side, and he scrubs the side of his jaw, gaze stuck on Jimmy. “Nova, I’m gonna punch this guy. I’m trying really hard not to, but I’m pretty sure it’s gonna happen.”
I sputter, looking between the two of them. “Guys, you don’t need to—”
“What, you need her blessing or something?” Jimmy sneers.
“Just trying not to ruin my best friend’s wedding is all,” Weston barks back, taking a step closer. “Not like you fucking care. You don’t know anyone here. Not even Nova.”
Jimmy steps up to him, but now they’re too close for me to intervene. This is going to end with fists, and I’m too shocked to do anything.
“Hey, Weston, buddy, what’s going on?” Elliot comes up from behind, Keko trailing.
“Just having a chat,” Weston says. His face is edged with something hard. Like he’s truly fighting a battle inside himself…and losing. I’ve never seen it before. I just want this all to stop.