How to Honeymoon Alone

The stranger puts down his phone. “It is?”

“Oh, yes,” the waiter says with a wink. “So you two enjoy yourself, all right? I’ll be back shortly to take your food order.”

He disappears amid the tables and leaves the mystery man and me to our own devices. Or rather, him to his device. His eyes are trained on the screen.

I put an arm on the railing. The ocean is shrouded in darkness, and I can just barely make out the softly lapping waves.

“You know, you never told me your name when you invited yourself to my table.”

He works on his phone for a solid minute before turning it facedown on the table. Dark-blue eyes meet mine. “Phillip Meyer,” he says, extending a large hand across the table. “It’s a pleasure.”

I take it. “Eden Richards.”

He shakes my hand twice, a firm grip, like we’re in a business meeting. “Thank you again, Eden, for not relegating me to a convenience store. I appreciate it.”

My hand is warm when I take it back. “Sure. I mean, I’m big on charity.”

His eyebrows rise, and there’s a spark of delight in his eyes. “Charity?”

I’m spared from answering by our waiter’s return. He has a rum punch in a tumbler and a glass of red wine, with one beverage looking decidedly more fun than the other. It has a sprig of mint in it and a frozen slice of lemon.

“For the beautiful lady,” the waiter says with a smile before turning to Phillip. “You’re a lucky man.”

I open my mouth to say-what, exactly?-but Phillip beats me to the punch. “Yes, and she sure likes to remind me.”

The waiter laughs, and I glare across the table. Phillip, however, looks back at me with unreadable eyes. “You did me a favor tonight. I’m the luckiest.”

I want to roll my eyes, but resist until the waiter’s taken our drink orders and left. “So now we’re a couple?”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“I was playing along,” Phillip says. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your seven years of karate. Or your can of pepper spray. How did you get that through customs?”

“Not important,” I say. It’s easy to smuggle all kinds of things when they’re fictional. As long as this doesn’t give him any ideas.

But he’s already looking back down at his phone.

I take a sip of my rum punch, and it’s all spiced goodness. Closing my eyes, I listen to the waves in the distance.

I’m on vacation. I’m in the Caribbean. I’m the master of my fate now.

And I’m going to have the best time.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” I ask. “Since I did you a solid here tonight.”

He looks up. “Yes.”

I hand him my phone. “Can you take a photo of me?”

“A photo?”

“Yes.”

Judgment rolls off him in waves. I ignore it and pose happily, holding up my drink for the camera like I’m saying cheers.

He lowers my phone after a few seconds. “There. I took a few.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

His jaw works a few times. “You’re going to flood your social media with holiday pics, aren’t you?”

I shake my head, thinking of all the friends Caleb and I have in common. I’m not planning on humiliating myself further by sharing pics from the vacation they all know was meant for two. “No. And even if I was, is that so bad?”

He takes a sip of his wine instead of answering. The silence speaks for itself.

“I bet that would taste even better if it was a drink with a locally produced rum,” I point out.

“It definitely would not.”

I find myself smiling. He’s like one of the grumpy five-year-olds in my class when they haven’t had their nap. Except he’s probably a thirtysomething and a workaholic, which means odds are he hasn’t had a nap in a decade.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing much. Just that you’re not in a very good mood, are you?”

He’s quiet for another long beat, and judging by the faint surprise on his face, I’ve caught him off guard.

But it takes one to know one. After a flight where I managed to cry not once but twice, and the last few months of moving all my belongings into a new house, this is refreshing. I can’t remember a time when the person I was speaking with didn’t know everything about my situation.

Phillip sighs, almost reluctantly. “No, I’m not my best self tonight.”

“That’s okay. We can’t be on top all the time.” Then, I replay the words in my mind and immediately shake my head. “Sorry, forget I said that.”

He leans back in his chair. “Why are you here alone tonight?”

“Why are you?” I ask. My left hand closes around the drink. It’s bare without the engagement ring.

The one I’d thrown at Caleb after I found out.

It had been dramatic and satisfying as hell to watch him bend over the cracks on the sidewalk to search for the glittering thing. He always hated getting dirt under his fingernails. I hope he got plenty that afternoon.

Lord knows I felt dirty enough when I found out he’d been having an affair with my maid of honor, the former third part of mine and Becky’s best friend trifecta.

“I’m traveling alone,” Phillip says. “Just here to see the island.”

“Well, would you look at that?” I say and give him my widest smile. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

He runs a hand along his jaw and looks away from our table, toward the interior of the restaurant. I follow his gaze. The place is packed with people. Most of them are couples, sitting across from one another at candlelit, white cloth-covered tables.

One couple is openly kissing.