“Brothers are the worst.”
“Olderbrothers are the—no, they’re the best. Except on occasion.”
And there go the clouds in her expression again.
I don’t know her well. We’ve stuck to superficial topics the past few days.
But those cloudsfeelwrong on her.
“Whoa. Hey, Emma, did you know there’s an old village right there? Where did that come from?” I say, and I do it in my best Ryan Reynolds impression for fun. Cracked her up yesterday.
She smiles again, but it’s a small smile.
Still have work to do to get that full-force smile back. It disappears every time she talks about her brother. Or her friends.
We haven’t touched her ex beyond the few things she said about him that first morning.
I don’t want to know what that would do to her expression.
I watched the video again a few times the night after we met, and I don’t like him.
Can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now. She almost married him.
“Oh, gosh,” she says lightly, “it must’ve sprang up from nothing just because it knew we were here and wanted to impress us.”
“Is itsprangorsprung?”
“No idea. I’m an accountant who learned grammar from Razzle Dazzle films.”
“You did?”
“No.” She laughs, a bigger laugh this time, and heads toward the first of five bures that we can see in the small clearing on the hillside. The straw huts are all the same size, each with a plaque in front of it. Below are the brilliant green waters off the beach, complete with a line where the water turns a deep, deep blue and goes on forever with just a couple small islands dotting the horizon.
A breeze rustles through the jungle, carrying more bird songs with it. A monkey answers. And the solitude of where we are hits me.
I like my family. I don’t mind the press most days. Have a job I love.
Except recently.
“I should move here,” I hear myself murmur.
“To this village?”
I glance over at the five bures on either side of a dirt path cut into the clearing on the hillside. Start calculating.
One grass hut for a kitchen.
One for guests.
One for a massage room.
One for me.
One for a gathering room where my guests and I can eat inside when the storms come in, tell stories, act out old plays like I used to make Hayes do with me when we were kids.
And then I shake my head, internally laughing at myself.
Emma lifts her pale brows at me.
