Lovestruck: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  How could he possibly think, with Will’s name on the top—I pause, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

  I did write Will’s name, didn’t I? Like normal-type people generally do when composing a letter?

  I think back, but as hard as I search, I don’t have a specific memory of doing it or seeing it there.

  Fuck.

  It is possible I was so tipsy—on both the alcohol and the adrenaline of finally spilling out those feelings—and maybe so nervous about who I was writing it to, that knowing it’d be going under his door seemed like enough. Except apparently it didn’t go under his door. That dopey freshman I asked must have pointed me to the wrong room.

  Brooke’s mouth has fallen open. Her eyes dart from me to Brad and back again. She’s obviously connected the dots. I give her a quick shake of my head, but my mind is spinning.

  “Didn’t anyone see who left it?” I can’t help asking.

  “No one who’d been sober enough to remember the next day!” Brad snorts, with Will nodding along. “Man, we had some times.”

  The whiskey has turned doubly sour in my stomach. I’m not sure I can sit there joking along with the others through another round, but thankfully Brooke steps in to save the day. “What about you, honey?” she asks Trevor quickly. “Any college misadventures?”

  I clutch my glass as the talk veers off to some college adventure of one of Trevor’s other biking buddies.

  I was wrong. I was wrong.

  “I’ll be right back,” I mumble. I slip off my stool and hustle away. In the elevator, I tip my head back against the wall and blink at the tiled ceiling. I feel as dizzy as if that one whiskey sour had been five.

  I thought Will had thrown my feelings in my face, turned them into a joke. I thought he’d not just broken my heart but done it gleefully. But he didn’t have a clue. He didn’t even recognize the Star Trek reference I signed off with? Your Deanna, as in Counselor Deanna Troi, because he’d said I was his Troi.

  I should be glad I decided in my semi-drunken state to be clever instead of signing it with my real name. Imagine if Brad had thought I’d confessed my love for him. Yikes.

  But if I had told the truth, then Will and I could have stayed friends. Maybe he would have realized the letter was for him.

  Maybe …

  The elevator stops at my floor. I walk down the hall on shaky legs. In my room, I kick off my sandals and flop on the bed. This ceiling doesn’t offer any additional answers, only those lovely brass light fixtures.

  Gradually, my heart stops thudding. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath.

  It doesn’t matter, really. Not now, at least. I was totally infatuated with Will, and he didn’t have the slightest clue about that either, did he? He never thought about me that way—or anyone else. He was a player, through and through. He even laughed at the things I wrote in the letter—that was his response to romance, back then.

  It was for the best, I tell myself, trying desperately to believe it. He would have ended up breaking my heart, one way or another.

  Now I’ve just got to keep that idea inside this thick skull of mine for the next four days.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’m supposed to meet Maggie in the lobby at ten for our grand expedition. I show up at five to. My head is clearer after a full night’s sleep, my swim stuff tucked in my tote bag—I’m prepared for anything and ready to leave all the drama behind.

  So naturally within ten seconds of my stationing myself near the front doors, Will appears. I make myself smile as he walks over, but my hand tightens around my purse strap. Doesn’t the guy have enough work here to keep him out of my hair for more than an hour?

  And does he have to look so good in the meantime? That relaxed white button-down, open at the collar to offer just a glimpse of chest, acknowledges every inch of the muscled territory underneath and brings out his tanned skin. His fitted slacks make me wish he was walking in the other direction—for the view as much as so I didn’t have to face another awkward conversation.

  “I’m just waiting for Maggie,” I say pre-emptively. “She should be down any minute now.”

  “Actually,” Will says, “that’s why I’m here. She was doing a test run in the kitchen this morning, something to do with the wedding cake, and apparently there was a problem because of the humidity or … it wasn’t entirely clear to me. There were a lot of technical baking terms involved.”

  My heart sinks. “Which means … ?”

  “I’ve sent someone to grab extra ingredients from town, and she says she needs to do some experimentation to make sure she’s got the right fix.”

  “So today’s a wash. Okay.” I guess I can take another trip to the spa? Laze around on the beach? A restless twitch runs through my body at the thought.

  “Not entirely,” Will says. “Not if you don’t—” He runs a hand through his hair, rumpling the dark brown waves. His gaze dips for a second, and with a jolt I realize he’s nervous. Nervous of me?

  “I’ve been thinking maybe we got … re-started on the wrong foot,” he says, looking at me again, almost hopefully. “I’ve cleared my schedule for the day, and I’d really like it if we could hang out, the way we used to—I’ll take you around, we’ll shoot the shit, nothing too intense.”

  “As friends?” I say, trying to read between the lines.

  “Well …” A glint lights in his eyes. “If things happen to take a turn in another direction, who am I to get in the way? But no pressure, no expectations. No Jumbotrons or flash mobs. I promise.”

  A tingle races over my skin. The man is too fucking charming for his own good.

  But even as I hesitate, I realize he’s extending an olive branch. He’s got so much less to make up for than I thought he did. If the last few days have been messy, it’s been mostly my fault. My misunderstanding. I can’t hold that against him. When I stop filtering his behavior through all that skewed history, he’s actually been incredibly accommodating.

  I can’t deny that the idea of spending the day together without the shadow of that unfounded pain hanging over me is appealing. Would it really hurt that much to give this friendship—and whatever else it might be—another chance? He has no idea how I felt back then, and he never needs to know.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

  Will’s eyebrows arch, and my face warms, but not so much that I can’t smack him in the arm the way I would have five years ago. “You know what I mean. Get that mind out of the gutter, Cassidy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says innocently. “Come on. There’s a jeep that can handle the roads around here waiting out front.”

  “And where is that jeep going to take us?”

  “I’ve got it all planned out,” he says. “Let me surprise you.”

  Will drives with the same confidence he brings to everything: one hand on the wheel, the other skimming through the music on his phone, still taking every turn at just the right angle. I sink into the buttery leather seat, just glad I’m not the one navigating the jungle.

  “You know, I think I still have … There!” A triumphant grin stretches across his face as a song peals through the speakers. It takes recognition a second to kick in. Then I cover my face with a laugh.

  “I still can’t believe you bought their album. What were they called … ? Social something …”

  “Social Malfunction.”

  I laugh.

  “I just felt so sorry for them after that horrific performance,” Will says. “The music really isn’t that bad when they’re not contending with a broken amp and a drummer who went overboard with whatever upper he was on. It sets the mood, anyway.”

  It does. The clanging guitars and hoarse vocals of the band that played at the college bar that one night—that had us cracking up harder than any comedy show and created many a running joke for months afterward—follows us along the bumpy road and down the highway to another little beach town tucked out of view amid the trees.
The owner of the coffee shop we duck into nods to Will as if they’re old friends.

  “Two of my usual,” Will says, and then to me, “You’ll like this.”

  “That’s a pretty easy prediction,” I say. “I’ve yet to meet a coffee bean I couldn’t get along with.”

  But when the guy sets down two steaming mugs in front of us, one whiff of the rich, almost peppery aroma makes my mouth water. I sip it slowly, managing not to burn my tongue. I sigh with pleasure. “Okay,” I say. “Point to you. Forget getting along—I’d happily get hitched to this brew.”

  Will smiles over his own mug. “It’s a local blend,” he says. “Exclusive. I keep trying to convince him to let me serve it at the resort, but Raul is a tough sell.”

  “So there are some deals even the great Will Cassidy can’t negotiate.”

  He laughs. “I’d like to think only a few.”

  The caffeine leaves me with a mellow buzz that puts a spring in my step as we amble toward the water. It’s another clear day, and the sun sparkles over the ocean as if it’s sprinkled with gems. I’m feeling game for just about anything until Will motions me over to a little shop with a stack of scuba tanks out front. Inside, the wooden walls are hung with wetsuits and swim fins.

  “I can’t take you to an alien planet,” Will grins, “but what do you say to exploring the ocean a little more in depth? Fins, snorkels, and waterproof cameras—I know a perfect spot.”

  My body has balked instinctively. Why did he have to pick this of all the possible activities? “I, ah, I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t think snorkeling is really my thing.”

  Will bumps his elbow against mine. “Are you kidding me? Imagine the strange new worlds we can explore.”

  Dear Lord, is he really quoting Star Trek at me now? This is so embarrassing. “I just get kind of uncomfortable, going all that far out in the water.”

  “Hey, if ten year olds can handle it, surely the great Ruby Walters can too,” he teases. “Weren’t you looking for a little adventure?”

  I bite my lip, and he pauses. I feel him taking in my tensed stance. His voice softens. “You’re really nervous.”

  “I—I know it’s stupid.” I flush. “I like swimming just fine. It’s just always freaked me out a little having my face under the water. Maybe I got dunked too many times as a kid.”

  “Hmmm.” Will’s teasing drops. “Freaking you out was definitely not one of my goals for today. I already have the boat hired, and it’s a gorgeous day. What if we rent the equipment so we have it, and then see how it goes? No judgment here if you decide to spend the entire time sunning on the boat.”

  I exhale slowly. “Okay. That sounds fair.”

  It only takes Will a few minutes to pick out masks and flippers with the help of the storeowner. Once I’m sitting on the deck of the boat, the breeze in my hair and the equipment tucked away behind the cabin, my tension starts to unwind. The sun is warm against my skin, even through the cover-up I’ve got on over my bikini. Plus I’ve got a nice view right there on the boat: Will in the light tee and swim trunks he’s changed into.

  I guess it was too much to hope for a Speedo.

  We spot a few dolphins arcing through the water as we head toward the reef Will wanted to check out. The spray is pleasantly cool against my cheeks as I lean against the metal railing. When we come to a stop, the boat rocks at a soothing rhythm. I peer into the turquoise depths.

  It doesn’t look dangerous. The water is totally calm, barely a hint of a wave. And I am kind of curious what sights lie in wait down below. No Starfleet cadet would let a little uncertainty stop her from setting off into strange new worlds. Am I really going to let Will show me up?

  “On a clear day like this, you can see right down to the reef,” Will says, as if recognizing that I’m wavering. “More kinds of fish will go by in a minute than you’ve probably had in front of you your whole life before now.”

  “We’d stay right near the boat?” I ask.

  “Sure. There’s lots to look at in this spot. And I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

  I look at the bundle of snorkeling gear. My chest constricts again, but I breathe through it. “I guess now that we’re out here, I might as well give it a shot.”

  Will smiles at me as if I’ve just made his entire day, and all at once I can’t remember what other reason I’d have needed to try.

  I’m expecting my nerves to gnaw at me when we’re gearing up, but I keep getting distracted: by the brush of Will’s fingertips against my bare back as he helps me position the flotation belt, by the sight of him pulling off that T-shirt to reveal the firm planes of a chest my fingertips remember all too well. Suddenly I’m feeling warm, and I can’t say it’s just because of the sun beaming down on us.

  “Try breathing through the snorkel before we get in the water,” Will advises. “It can feel strange—better to get used to it before you have other things on your mind.”

  I have plenty of other things on my mind already with so much of him on display, but I decide not to mention that. I fit the rubbery mouthpiece against my teeth and suck in air. It’s a bit more of a strain than regular breathing, but after a few inhales and exhales I’ve adjusted. I can do this. No problem.

  Will jumps off the side of the boat into the water. I follow more cautiously, swinging my legs over and then sliding off, keeping one hand on the side. The floatation belt catches my weight. I bob in the sunbaked water. Then I remove the snorkel’s mouthpiece and lie back, letting the ocean cradle me as I soak up a little sun of my own.

  Will taps the sole of my foot. “Other way around, newbie.”

  I stick my tongue out at him, and he grins. Even with that bulky mask over his face, the gleam in those gray-green eyes still makes my body tingle.

  “Ready?” he says.

  I nod and shove the mouthpiece back in. One breath, another. My finned feet churn the water below. My throat’s gone tight. I reach out my hand, not letting myself think about how childish the gesture feels, and Will takes it. He squeezes my fingers.

  “Right here with you,” he says, and pops his own mouthpiece in.

  For the first moment as I tip forward, my heart pounds so hard I’m sure even Will must feel it. But air keeps coursing steadily through the snorkel, and the floatation belt holds me right at the surface of the water without any effort on my part. I blink and find myself gazing down at a spectacular interplay of light streaking across the knobs and whorls of a coral reef.

  I was imagining the stark white coral pieces I’ve seen in beach shops. The living reef looks more like an impressionist painting, vivid swaths of red and orange and purple. Dozens of fish in even more brilliant hues dart under and around its outcroppings. Directly below me, a lemon-yellow anemone waves its grass-like tentacles.

  I forget how I’m breathing, or really that I’m breathing at all. Will twines his fingers through mine. I look at him, and he smiles around his mouthpiece, and I’m not sure which sight is making my pulse flutter more. He motions with our joined hands, a gentle tug that’s more a question than a demand.

  One kick of my legs with those fins makes me soar across the water. A laugh bubbles in my chest. I was scared of this? I can’t believe I almost didn’t give it a chance. It’s a pretty far cry from my childhood public pool, that’s for sure.

  Will points, and I gasp into my snorkel. An immense sea turtle, its shell so wide I’m not sure I could wrap my arms all the way around it if I tried, is gliding by several feet below us. A school of tiny silver fish scatters in its wake.

  My fingers tighten around Will’s. His thumb strokes over the back of my hand, reassuring and electrifying both at once. I can’t say thank you with this thing in my mouth, but I hope I’m transmitting the message clearly enough through our joined hands. Whatever else happens today, this makes it all worth it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Strolling through the town after we return the boat, I feel as if I’m tagging along with a local celebrity. Ever
yone we pass gives Will a smile or a wave, and not just out of general friendliness.

  “My sister is so looking forward to performing for your guests next weekend,” one woman tells him.

  “Oh, yes, he’s up and running around like usual again,” a guy answers, beaming, when Will asks if his son is over his flu.

  Another man jogs over to let Will know he’s sorted out the “bicycle rental situation.” Before we’ve even sat down in the homey little restaurant he’s picked out, Will is joking with the owner about the change in music since the last time he was there.

  “Is there anyone here you don’t know?” I ask over our tamales and a creamy drink Will called horchata that includes a kick of cinnamon.

  He grins. “I make a point of spending time in town as often as I can. Not just this one—all the ones near the resort. Surveys and reports never give the full picture. You’ve got to talk to the actual people who live in the area for that.”

  “It’s important to you to be respectful of them,” I say, remembering what he said the other night in the hotel bar.

  “That and I’d like them to be a real part of what I’m doing. For it to be more of a collaboration than some American company moving in and taking up space. I think it’s better for all of us that way. The hotel benefits from their experience and skills, and it contributes to the local economy.”

  “Everyone wins,” I realize.

  “Exactly.” He rotates his glass between his fingers, his gaze going distant. “It’s coming along well so far. Hard to make any definitive statements after only a couple years, but I hope this model of sustainability will be viable enough that I can expand to other locations.”

  “Where else would you want to develop?”

  “Mexico has been good to me, so I’ve considered looking for a spot on the Atlantic coast. Farther abroad, Costa Rica has looked like a solid possibility. Maybe Cuba if I can swing it. I’m keeping an open mind. In an ideal world, I’ll make enough of an impact that my approach inspires some of the other resort chains to get on board.”