But in this moment, we’re both in a pile of shit in our personal lives, blasted all over the world by social media and the press.
“So if owning a Fijian village is my dream house, what’s yours?” I ask while we casually stroll closer to the first bure, my arm still draped around her.
Her nose wrinkles. “I—I don’t know anymore.”
She’s not going totally sad, so I give her a little prod. “Go on.”
“When I was little, I wanted to grow up and live in my friend Sabrina’s grandparents’ house. It’s in one of the fancier neighborhoods in town. A little more land. Creaky woodenfloors. Big kitchen with the most amazing view of the mountains. And we had a treehouse there. But—”
The rainclouds take over her expression again as she cuts herself off.
I should drop it.
This is about fun. No stress.
“But?” I prompt instead.
“My—ex—is her cousin. It’s technically his grandparents’ house too.”
Eject. Mayday. Abort mission. “Ah, look.” I point to a straw-roofed structure that doesn’t quite fit. “An ancient picnic table in an ancient gazebo. It’s a sign from the heavens. We’re supposed to eat.”
The sadness clears about eighty percent of the way, and I’m reasonably certain that’s a real smile she gives me as she shakes her head. “Clearly a sign from the heavens,” she agrees.
Honestly?
Watching her be happy—helping her be happy—is helping me look on the bright side in my own life again.
Everything will be okay.
I can be okay.
We set up our picnic lunch, but since we have a blanket provided by the resort in the backpack I’m carrying, Emma insists we sit on the ground.
Unlike the morning we met, when both of us could barely stomach dry toast and ginger ale, she’s happily diving into pineapple, mango and passion fruit salad. She helps me eat the fish soup, and she steals more of the cassava bread than she lets me have.
We’re about to dig into dessert when Emma cuts herself off with a squeak.
Except that’s not Emma.
That’s a chicken crossing the dirt path and clucking her way toward us.
“Oooh,chickens,” she breathes.
“I didn’t think there were chickens on this island.”
“Why wouldn’t there be?”
“They captured them all and relocated them to a different island so they wouldn’t cluck and wake up the guests.”
“No.”
“Yep.”
“That’scrazy.”
“Welcome to very exclusive private resorts.”
“Maybe it flew from another island.”
