In reality, I’m a woman of prescribed order, so I have to write the beginning first. No one told me it would be this hard to download the story from my head to the screen.
I look at my well-worn copy ofDays in Dothanby one of my favorite romance authors, Ashton Ashley, tucked in my open bag. Can I write a story that well? With the angst and the tension and the depth? While still maintaining humor and romance?
“God?” I tilt my head and stare at the high ceiling wooden beams just for the heck of it. “I didn’t make up this calling from thin air, right?”
Just write.
The words are seared into my vision, and I smile. I’ll get to the meet-cute by the end of Chapter Two, anyway.
Something to work toward.
Excerpt from Esme’s Novel
Swimming with sharks wasn’t on the agenda for today, but neither was going on my honeymoon to Bora Bora alone. Yet, here I am. Staring out at shark-infested waters and contemplating throwing myself to them even though I don’t technically see any.
Hey!Maybe the hidden sharks will do me an immense favor and unalive me. Death by a hungry shark sounds much better than five more days on this god-forsaken island, drowning my sorrowful worries in strawberry vodka shots and shrimp. Which, trust me, doesnottaste as good coming up as going down.
I’m only here because I paid for half of this stupid honeymoon, and my parents are of the old-fashioned Southern mindset that women should be married off by the time they’re twenty-one.Ha, here I am, continually breaking the mold by being unmarried at twenty-six.When I told them I didn’t want to go on my honeymoon alone after Ryan never showed up at the altar, they practically shoved me out of the house yelling, “It’ll begood for you to reevaluate your life. Besides, maybe you’ll meet someone new.”
I’m my parents’ only hope for grandchildren as I’m an only child, and I’ve never liked disappointing them.
At least they don’t blame me for the absent groom.
I think.
That text message he sent me still shouts in my head.
Ryan:Esme, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m in love with someone else. - Ryan
I hate how he always signed his name on text messages.
Hot sand burns the soles of my feet as I shuffle across the white beach, looking out into the crystal blue ocean where stingrays freely swim alongside humans, yet I haven’t dared to step foot into the salty water. The sun is brilliant and bright; it would ruin my eyes if not for my big black sunglasses.
I loathe the sun.
I crave gray skies and teary clouds. Maybe the occasional clap of thunder and bolt of lightning. A massive, raging hurricane branding my name would be sufficient and up to par with my macabre mood. Anything other than this soft, salty breeze against my sun-kissed skin, beckoning my spirit to shift the slightest degree toward the happy setting.
Day two of my spouse-less honeymoon, and my lips itch to twitch upward at the beauty around me. But no.Ryan has another woman he loves. I wasn’t enough for him. And he just had to wait until our wedding day to come clean of his two-month affair.
No amount of vibrant flora, luscious fauna, and mesmerizing sea creatures can divert my thoughts far enough away from the fact that I’m now a twenty-six-year-old woman who has been cheated on and stood up at the altar.
I down the Mai Tai in my hands before waving down a resort employee to take the glass away from me. “And a refill, too, please,” I shout as the young Polynesian woman dressed in khaki shorts and a tucked-in light blue polo withForever Summer—the resort name—embroidered on the left chest nods and rushes off.
I browse for an open umbrella and chair to occupy and wait for my third cocktail of the day, which is not normal for me,but when in Bora Bora…
People are everywhere. Couples in love. Children sun-drunk. Adults drunk-drunk. And an overall vibe of vivacious carelessness.
It’s almost enough to make me crack a smile, but I don’t. Because I can’t afford to be careless. I have a job teaching high schoolers the beauty of literature awaiting me back in Juniper Grove, Mississippi. I have hearts and minds to influence. A life to get back on track. A new living situation to consider since I’m no longer moving in with Ryan.Hunting down a new husband for myself so I can live up to my parents’ and the entire South’s societal expectations.
Finally, a chair frees up, and I walk the short distance, dodging humans, and shimmy out of my swimsuit cover. A high-pitched whistle coming from the chair beside me draws my attention.
“Do that dance again,muñequita.” A Hispanic middle-aged man with a bald head waggles his brows, and I fight the urge to gag in disgust as he licks his lips. My gaze snags on the tattoo on the side of his neck. Is that a pentagram? With aheartin the middle of it? Disturbing isn’t the right word to describe the sight of that.
Discommoding. Ominous.
“Uh, no,” I state plainly, not bothering to hide my disdain. I’m a feisty woman as it is. Couple that with alcohol? Better watch out. The world is mine to conquer.
The man stands, taller than I expected him to be. His slimy smile sends shivers shuddering down my spine. “Don’t be like that.” He grabs my forearm, yanking me against his chest. I try to squirm away, but he’s stronger than he looks, and I grow ice-cold in the middle of this balmy summer island when he whispers against my ear, “I have a knife in my pocket. If you scream or try to run, I will not hesitate to use it,muñequita.”
