"You're welcome." I take a bite of the salad, searching for a way back to the ease we'd shared yesterday. "Would you like to try it again tomorrow? There's supposed to be another reef on the north side of the beach that has even more marine life."
"If you'd like," she says.
I suppress a sigh. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. This distance, this professional politeness. I did this to us, and I have no idea how to undo it.
"Elena," I begin, then stop, unsure what to say next. I'm not good at this—vulnerability, apologies, emotional honesty. My natural instinct is to power through awkwardness with action,decisions, forward momentum. "What would you like to do this afternoon?"
She seems surprised by the question. "Me? I thought you might want to rest or go snorkeling again. The doctor said—"
"I know what the doctor said," I interrupt, then soften my tone. "But relaxation doesn't have to mean doing nothing, right? Those were your words. Besides, we did something I wanted. Now it’s your turn."
She nods slowly. "There's supposed to be a beautiful drive along the coast. The villa manager mentioned it leads to a lookout point with views of the entire island."
"That sounds perfect." I make a decision. "No driver, though. I'll drive us myself."
Now she looks genuinely startled. "You want to drive? Yourself?"
"I do know how," I say dryly. "I wasn't born with a chauffeur."
"I just..." She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "I can't imagine you driving. It seems so..."
"Normal?" I suggest.
"Exactly."
This is better. Not quite the easy banter we had at dinner, but not the painful politeness of earlier either.
"I'll have you know I was an excellent driver before I could afford not to be," I tell her, remembering my first car—a beat-up Honda that I'd saved for through high school jobs. "My brothers and I used to race on back roads upstate."
"Now that I can picture," she says, her smile widening slightly. "Competitive even then?"
"Always." I return her smile, "Though Ethan usually won. He has no fear."
"And you do?" she asks, then immediately looks like she regrets the question.
I consider deflecting, returning to safer ground. But that's what got us into this mess. "Yes," I admit. "Different kinds than Ethan, but yes."
"Thank you for telling me that."
It's such a small confession, hardly earth-shattering, but her response makes me realize how rarely I admit to any weakness, any humanity. The fact that she treats it as a gift rather than a vulnerability to exploit says more about her character than a thousand résumés could.
"So," I say, finishing my soup, "coastal drive after lunch?"
"I'd like that."
An hour later, we're in a convertible Jeep provided by the villa, wind whipping through our hair as we follow the coastal road. Elena has tied a scarf around her head, looking like a 1950s movie star on vacation. I'm wearing sunglasses I bought from the villa's small shop, feeling oddly liberated without my usual formal attire.
The island is even more beautiful from the road. Lush mountains rising on one side, the Caribbean stretching endlessly on the other. We drive in silence for a while, the rushing wind making conversation difficult anyway. Elena occasionally points out particularly spectacular views, and I nod, slowing down so we can appreciate them.
At a scenic overlook, I pull over, and we get out to stretch our legs and take in the panorama. The entire island seems spread before us, green mountains, white beaches, and the endless blue ocean. It's breathtaking.
"I can see why the doctor recommended this place," Elena says, leaning against the Jeep's hood. "It feels a world away from New York."
"It does," I agree, standing beside her. "I haven't felt this disconnected from work in... well, ever."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asks.
"Surprisingly good," I admit. "Though don't tell the board I said that. They'll think I've gone soft."
