She laughs, the sound carried away on the breeze. "Your secret's safe with me."
I look at her, the wind playing with escaped strands of her hair, her face relaxed and sun-kissed. "I know it is," I say, more seriously than intended.
Her smile fades slightly, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think about closing the distance between us, consequences be damned. But I've already made a mess of things once; I won't risk it again without being sure.
"We should probably continue," I say, looking away. "The villa manager mentioned a small town further along the coast that might be worth exploring."
Elena nods, and we get back in the Jeep. As I start the engine, I can feel her watching me, but I keep my eyes on the road ahead.
Chapter 6 - Elena
The small coastal town appears around a bend in the road, a collection of colorful buildings nestled between the mountains and the sea. Michael parks the Jeep in a small lot near what appears to be the main street, and I adjust my windblown hair as best I can.
"I must look a mess," I say, trying to smooth the tangles with my fingers.
Michael glances at me, a half-smile playing on his lips. "You look..." he pauses, seeming to search for an appropriate word, "perfectly vacation-appropriate."
It's such a measured response that I almost laugh. The Michael Morrison of the boardroom would never hesitate like this. He's always precise, always certain. This hesitant version is new and strangely endearing.
We walk side by side down the main street, which is lined with small shops, cafés, and art galleries. The buildings are painted in vibrant Caribbean colors—turquoise, coral, sunshine yellow—with wooden shutters and flower boxes overflowing with tropical blooms. It feels worlds away from the steel and glass of Manhattan.
"It's charming," I say, taking in the relaxed atmosphere. Local music drifts from an open-air café, and the scent of spices and grilled seafood fills the air. "Like something from a travel magazine."
"Too touristy?" Michael asks, watching a group of visitors emerge from a souvenir shop laden with bags.
I shake my head. "No, it feels authentic. Just... curated. The best version of itself."
"I can appreciate that," he says. "Presenting your optimal self to the world."
The comment feels loaded somehow, but I choose not to dig deeper. We're finding our footing again after last night's misstep, and I don't want to disrupt this fragile equilibrium.
We wander into a small art gallery displaying the work of local artists. The paintings are vibrant and full of life—seascapes, village scenes, abstract interpretations of island flora. Michael stops in front of a particularly striking canvas showing the island at sunset, all deep purples and fiery oranges.
"Do you like art?" I ask, realizing it's yet another thing I don't know about him.
"I appreciate it, though I wouldn't call myself knowledgeable. My Manhattan apartment has several pieces, but they were all selected by a decorator."
"Really?" I'm surprised by his honesty. "I would have expected you to be very particular about what hangs on your walls."
"I am, in theory," he admits. "But there's never been time to develop my own taste. It was easier to outsource to an expert."
There's something sad in this admission. The idea that even his personal space has been delegated to others, optimized for efficiency rather than joy.
"What about you?" he asks. "Do you collect art?"
I laugh. "On my salary? Hardly. But I do have a few prints I love, and a painting my grandmother did years ago."
"What's it of?"
"The family cabin in the Adirondacks. It's not technically impressive, but it captures exactly how the light hits the lakein the morning." I smile at the memory. "Some of my happiest childhood memories happened there."
Michael nods. "That's what art should do, right? Connect you to something meaningful."
It's such an unexpectedly poetic sentiment from a man who speaks primarily in quarterly projections and market analyses that I find myself staring at him. He catches my look and raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just... I didn't expect that from you."
