Hudson nudged my shoulder. I could practically hear him shoutingWhat have you got to lose?
I glanced around the room. The spirits were busy taking note of the wallpaper pattern and the cracks on the ceiling. They were terrible actors. I clenched my jaw and dropped my shoulders back before closing my eyes. “I need more privacy for this conversation.”
God snapped his fingers, the world blinked, and heat wrapped around us like we’d stepped into a tropical oven set to “slow roast your supernatural problems.” My sun lounger was warm, the sky a perfect impossible blue, and the ocean shimmered in welcome.
Then came the scent. Tequila. Coconut. Sunshine.
“Heaven is a five-star seaside resort?” Hudson asked.
God snorted. “No, this is Hawaii.”
“Oh.”
I sniffed. “Why do I smell like a cocktail?”
God leaned back on his lounger, sunglasses perched on his nose like he was on sabbatical. “Hydration and sun protection are sacred. I don’t want to return my granddaughter all crispy.”
A waiter materialized beside the loungers, balancing a tray stacked with hollowed-out coconuts topped with sparklers, umbrellas, and flamingo-shaped straws. He tilted his head as if he were trying to remember if we’d been there a second ago. “Aloha! Welcome back, sir. The usual Piña-Bless-Me, with extra foam.” He handed God a coconut the size of his head.
Hudson mouthed,“The usual?”
God sipped his drink. “I pop in from time to time.”
The waiter turned to us with a professional but bright smile. “I’m Graham, head waiter. Congratulations! You two newlyweds are absolutely glowing.”
I blinked. “What? No, we aren’t married.”
“Yet,” Hudson supplied, and I shot him a sharp look.
The waiter nodded, a delighted smile stretching across his face. “Oh, of course. You are scouting out locations.” He clapped his hands. “And per house policy, complimentary couple sunscreen!”
Another employee appeared beside him, holding a silver tray loaded with a variety of tiny glass bottles.
God pointed to one of the tall, thin ones. “Use the honey and oat one. It’s my favorite. Smells like Heaven.”
I stared at him. “Heaven smells of honey and oats?”
God shrugged. “Heaven smells of home. Whatever that means to you.”
What if home smelled of crap? That would be unfortunate.
“Also, you can never be too careful,” God added. “The sun is powerful. Just ask Dracula.”
“Dracula’s fictional,” Hudson muttered as he accepted a matching coconut to my own.
God snorted. “He wishes.”
Wait, what? Dracula was real? I had questions for my bestie once we got back.
The waiter leaned toward me. “Don’t worry, couples always argue about sunscreen on honeymoon. Very normal. Very healthy.”
Hudson choked. “We’re not on our?—”
The waiter uncapped a bottle and squirted lotion onto Hudson’s forearm. A thick coconut cloud puffed into the air, and my nose twitched. Was that alcohol smell coming from the cocktail or the sunscreen?
The waiter beamed. “We use only our premium island blend. Tequila-infused. Moisturizes deeply and spiritually.”
A deep spiritual tequila? Sounded about right if you wanted to worship at the porcelain altar.
