Monday, March 15
9:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m.: Breakfast via room service before guests depart
I slid the itinerary across the table to Macey, who lifted it to her face with her free hand. “Oh my God.” She shoved her plate to the side so she could bury her head in her arms on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just realized we’re going to have to post content of us together in Aruba.” Macey sighed. “Everyone’s going to think we’re dating.”
I collected her emptied plate and dropped it on top of mine. “Everyone already thinks that.”
“No,” she corrected. “Everyone at the resort thinks we’re dating. But soon everyone in the world is going to think we’re dating once you post about it.”
It wasn’t like I was going to Photoshop us kissing on the beach. “Don’t worry, I know how to manipulate photos well enough. I would never post something you’re not comfortable with.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t more worried. What if all your fangirls think you’re taken now?”
I hadn’t considered that. Probably because it didn’t matter. “I don’t have fangirls.”
“Whatever you say.” Macey stood and tucked the chairs under the table. “Wrap your ankle today.”
“What?”
“You’re limping, Noah. I know it must be hurting.”
“I don’t have anything to wrap it with.”
Macey’s eyes flickered to her suitcase then back to me. “I brought some tape. Good thing my luggage didn’t end up in whatever Bermuda Triangle all lost bags disappear to.”
She unzipped her suitcase, and I wondered if she had an injury I didn’t know about. “Here you go.”
I barely caught the small bundle of tape she threw at me.
“I thought you might need it.”
And that answered that question. She brought it for me. But why?
Macey excused herself to go get ready as I started the annoying process of wrapping my ankle. When she returned, seeming pleased with the result, I couldn’t stop the warm feeling that zipped through me.
The spa was tucked between swaying palm trees, its entrance framed by a cascading waterfall that trickled into a turquoise pond. The air smelled of coconut oil and something flowery, andthe soft sound of wind chimes blended with the lull of waves in the distance.
We stepped inside, and a woman in a crisp linen uniform greeted us, then handed us cool towels. We hadn’t even started; what did we need towels for?
“Welcome to your couple’s massage experience,” the spa attendant said with a smile. “Macey and Noah, right?”
“That’s right,” said Macey, who was wiping down her hands and forearms with the towel.
“We have you booked in for massages with Leoni and Penny. Before you begin, would you like to choose your aromatherapy oil? We have vanilla orchid, sandalwood, or island coconut.” She held up three small glass bottles.
“Ooh.” Macey took the vanilla orchid bottle and gave it a sniff. “This one, please.”
The attendant turned to me. “And for you, sir?”
I glanced at Macey. “Coconut.”
“Great choices.” She gestured toward the open couches. “Please have a seat. Your masseuses will be with you shortly.”
It was hard not to feel calm in this environment. Thedrip, drip, dripof the fake fountain, the fruit-infused water cups, the comfortable couches. No wonder self-care was so trendy. I could take a nap right here.
