“It’s 519 U.S. dollars per night.”
I gulped. I didn’t even know if I would stay in this villa, and certainly not for two nights given the fact that my flight to go home on January 2 was nonrefundable. Still, if it was the only way to have dinner with Harmony at the best table in paradise, then I would be fine eating at Taco Bell for the rest of the week to make it happen. “And it’s the only one you have left, correct?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. But, if I may, she’s a truly beautiful villa. They’re all really special, but I happen to like her the best. She’s a beach bungalow. A bit understated compared to some of the larger villas, but I think she’s quaint. Very romantic. Her name fits her perfectly.”
“Her name? The bungalow has a name?”
“Yes, of course. They all do.”
“What is hers?”
“She’s called ‘Joy.’”
Of course she was. “I’ll take it,” I said.
I set the book down beside me, my mind reeling. First of all, did Beckett not understand the concept offiction? I completely deleted the scenefrom The Old Man and the Sea in my version—well, for a million reasons. And second, did he really have to book the bungalow fortwonights?
And what was this business about him wanting to ask me to be hisgirlfriend?
I grab my hacky sack and place it between my chin and my chest, a nervous habit I have when lying in bed sometimes. Then I pick up my phone and google “Aruba Ocean Villas” and—holy sweet mother of God—it says it right there on the reservation bar that, yes, in fact, all stays are subject to a two-night minimum.
I shut down the phone before I can get lost in the magnificent photographs of the bungalows or the restaurant. Looking at that will only make everything hurt worse than it already does.
Instead, I pick up the book and keep going, hungry for answers that are two years too late.
Chapter 19
Ididskip hanging out with Beckett on the third night. And yes, he called it: Iwasfreaked out. Like I said, I’m not the kind of untamed woman who takes off her bathing suit top in public. I needed a reality check. So instead of accepting Beckett’s offer to go to the movies, I stayed in with my mom.
“I just don’t understand it, Pretty Girl,” she said. “A stone cold fox of a man is dying to take you out on the town, and you’re holed up here? With me? Watching old reruns ofPsychon USA?”
“This show’s great, Mom. I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
“It’s official. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
“They’re a—uh—team, right? Of, like, detectives?” I vaguely waved at the screen from my seat in the living area of the suite that doubled as my bedroom. Mom was tucked up under the covers in the foldout couch that was serving as my makeshift bed for the week. “And that one can read people’s minds or something. Epic.”
“You have literally no idea what you’re talking about.” She held the remote up and hit the power button. “Don’t mess up my stories with your ignorant self. Besides, your life is way more interesting right now. I just don’t understand why you’re trying to screw it all up by pretending you don’t like him.” She set the remote down beside her in the bed and gave me a knowing look.
“I’m not pretending anything!” I argued. “Can’t a girl just want to hang out with her mom in paradise for a night?”
“Of course! Except, not on a couch, indoors, watching old, bad cable television,” she retorted. “If I was my old self, we would be out at a show or at the casino. Or on that drunk bus!”
“The Kukoo Kunuku?”
“Yes! The school bus thing!” she went on. “But I’m a waste of a good time now. I get tired at 8:00 p.m. Which is why none of you being here makes any sense to me!”
“It’s not my fault they don’t have Netflix or something better to watch than this. Besides, Icamehere withyou, remember? I wasn’t expecting to go on any drunk bus!”
“That’s fine. I’m not coming at you about that. I’m just saying—I think you’re afraid to like this guy. And I don’t want to sit by and let you screw up a potentially amazing thing. Especially not on my account!”
“I’m not!” I insisted.
“You will, if you keep this shit up,” Mom said. She took a breath and placed her hand on her chest. I could hear the slight wheeze in her throat.
“Calm down,” I said. “I don’t want to argue with you.”
“Yes, let’s not elevate my blood pressure needlessly,” she agreed. “Tomorrow night, you go out with Beckett and leave me to my cable TV stories.”
