How to Honeymoon Alone

But it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that, my anxiety refuses to go away.

Something had shifted yesterday, in that route taxi, as we drove over the streets of Barbados toward the fish market. Amid the deafening beats of soca music and the curves hastily taken…

We’d touched.

And, somehow, that has turned Phillip from merely a person I’m having unexpected fun with during my vacation to an actual man with a capital M. The kind of man I haven’t let myself think about since my engagement had ended.

Not that he likely sees me as a capital W woman. Or if he does, it’s a new thing, and it might even run counter to his own instincts. You’re one of the strangest women I’ve ever met, he’d said during our midnight swim in the pool. That can’t exactly be a recipe for attraction.

But do I even want him to be attracted to me? The question sets off another burst of nerves in my system. That would turn this whole little enjoying-my-not-a-honeymoon project on its head.

“Hey,” a voice says.

I startle. “Oh. Hi!”

Phillip pushes his sunglasses up and comes to stand beside me on the dock. “You’re daydreaming?”

“Yeah. I do that a lot,” I say like a complete idiot. Not once have I thought about my daydreaming habits.

But he nods as if that makes perfect sense. His eyes meet mine, and even though he’s not smiling, there’s something in his gaze. Something that speaks of a crowded route taxi and his hands on my body.

“Hi,” I say again.

His lips curve. “Hello again, Eden.”

“Um, I think the boat is here. Is it this white boat with a giant engine? Your honeymoon planner didn’t spare any expense, did they?”

He lowers his sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. “She was told specifically not to.”

“Oh,” I say.

He leads the way toward the boat and I follow, my beach bag on my shoulder. “Does it pay so well to be an attorney, then? I probably chose the wrong profession.”

He shrugs. “It pays well if you’re an excellent one.”

“Well, excuse me,” I say with a smile. “Are you sure there’s space for all of us on this boat? You, me, and your ego?”

He chuckles. The sound is warm, and those nerves are back, flipping my stomach. “It’ll be a tight squeeze,” he says, “but I think we’ll manage.”

Our guide ushers us aboard a boat that was clearly built for speed and comfort. I tuck my bag safely inside a small cabin below deck and head back up.

Phillip is already there, sitting on a bench. His phone is nowhere in sight. I can see the faint hint of a five-o-clock shadow in the sunlight. He must have skipped shaving this morning.

I look at him for a few seconds too long.

“Hey,” he says and looks up. “How are-oh.”

I can’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses. But I notice the tilt of his chin, and my cheeks flush when I realize he’s looking at my bikini.

He runs a hand along his jaw. “Had a good day so far today?”

“Yes,” I say. I sit down next to him on the seat and pull my cap down tight on my head. It has stupid writing on it, an inside joke I shared with Becky and Cindy in college. “I spent the morning at the beach.”

“I can see that,” he says and nods toward my shoulder.

I glance down. “Oh. Yes, I got some color, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. Does it hurt?”

“No, not yet anyway. I tried my best to get my back with the sunscreen, but it’s… hard, you know. I wasn’t about to ask the staff for help.”

“I’m sure they would have obliged you,” he murmurs.

“Maybe,” I say, “or maybe I would have been thrown out for sexually harassing resort employees.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Well, we can’t have that. I would have bailed you out of a Bajan prison, though.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I wanted to ask you something yesterday, but I thought of it after we got back from Oistins.”

His eyebrow lifts. “Did you?”

“Yes. Do you ever work with criminals?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he laughs, quiet and deep. “No, I’m a corporate attorney, Eden. I don’t prosecute and I don’t meet criminals.”

“Oh, right.”

“You know, that’s never disappointed a woman before.”

“I’m probably a weird one. I listen to a fair number of true crime podcasts,” I say.

A fair number sounds saner than all of them.

“Ah,” he says. “My sister does that, too. What is it with women and true crime?”

“I have a theory,” I say.

Below deck, the boat’s engine roars to life. We start moving away from the dock. As we head farther from the coast, the massive architecture of the Winter Resort grows smaller. It’s so clad in greenery that it almost disappears into the surrounding landscape.

Phillip leans back against the seat, his posture more relaxed, and stretches out his long legs. “Tell me.”

“Well, I think women are drawn to true crime because it lets us explore the dark side of human nature from a safe distance. It’s like a puzzle we can be a part of solving.” I tilt my head. “I’ve also heard that some can feel empowered, weirdly enough, since women are most often the victims in these stories. Like, listening to true crime is almost instructional, on a subconscious level.”

He’s frowning. “Fuck, that’s dark.”

His frank tone makes me chuckle. “Yes. I’m not sure if that’s why I like them, personally. I find true crime fascinating and entertaining at the same time, and I love the ones that are solved. It feels like I’m listening to justice being done, you know?”

“Right,” he says. “Maybe it’s analogous to guys who love watching documentaries about World War Two.”