It’ll all come together. I just landed in Bermuda, but as soon as I’m back in Boston, your place is my first stop!
Jules
OMG, I just saw the weather. Please stay safe, Morgan.
Morgan
I’ll be fine. It’s supposed to blow through in less than 24 hours. I’m really not looking forward to being trapped at a hotel with my mom and my new stepdad who I’ve never even met. But at least it’s just for the weekend.
Speaking of, I should probably go read the text from my mom that I saw in the massive list of notifications that appeared on my home screen when my phone connected. But the line of people in the aisle is moving, so I drop my phone into my over-the-shoulder bag and stand to grab my carry-on suitcase.
Once I’m in a taxi for the short ride to the hotel, I click back into my texts to catch up with the others I missed. There are two from my mom, whose flight is supposed to arrive a couple hours after mine—just long enough that I didn’t have to politely offer to wait for her at the airport.
Mom
Hi honey, unfortunately our flight from Miami just got cancelled because of the storm. We’re getting rebooked for tomorrow morning, and we’ll hopefully arrive right after the storm moves out to sea again.
Maybe you can track down Danny at the hotel and get to know your new stepbrother. His flight arrived earlier today.
I snort out a laugh in the back seat, and the taxi driver glances at me in the rearview mirror but says nothing. I can think of zero reasons I’d want to get to know my soon-to-be stepbrother, when he’ll just be added to the list of all my former stepsiblings in six to nine months.
The first time my mom got remarried after she left my dad and me, I gained a stepsister. She was my age and we got along great. As an only child, I loved gaining not only a sibling, but a friend. Then summer hit and we went on vacation together. Her dad and my mom fought the whole time, and it was impossible for us to not side with our own parent.
By the time they got divorced, I realized it wasn’t worth investing all the time and energy into developing a relationship with my stepsibling if the marriage itself wasn’t going to last a year. Which they never do. Not the past three, anyway.
Aside from a few quick hellos while on video chats with my mom, I haven’t even met Max, my mom’s plastic surgeon and now my future stepfather. So it’s hard to say if this one will last, but if past precedent holds, there’s no point in becoming emotionally invested in him or his son.
I’m still trying to decide how to respond to my mom’s text when we pull into the circular drive of the pastel pink hotel. Ilove the way so many buildings in Bermuda are painted with bright pastel colors, accented by white stone roofs.
At the front desk, the receptionist who checks me in reminds me about the impending storm and tells me that they’re expected to lose power at some point tonight. “Only two of our restaurants will be serving dinner tonight: the White Elephant, which requires a reservation and has a shirt and tie dress code, and our cliffside bar, which offers a wide menu with a more casual atmosphere and doesn’t take reservations. Would you like me to make a reservation for you?”
“No, thanks. I’ll just grab something at the bar,” I say.
“Okay. I’d recommend going on the early side because, if we do lose power, we’ll have to shut down our kitchens.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say, turning to wheel my suitcase across the lobby. It’s a good thing I packed a few protein bars in my bag just in case. I hate eating alone, but it’s better than the alternative, which was dinner with my mom, future stepdad, and soon-to-be stepbrother.
My hair is windblown with strands stuck to my face by the time I make it the short distance under the covered walkway between the lobby and the bar. The hotel sits on a point overlooking a bay, and on a clear day, I’m sure the view from this glass-encased bar is spectacular. Right now, there’s nothing but dark clouds and driving rain. I can barely see the edge of the cliffs, much less the water beyond.
“Our tables are full right now,” the host tells me, “but there are a few seats left at the bar, and we serve a full menu there if you don’t want to wait.”
“The bar is great,” I say, and head that way. There are two open seats right in front of me, one at each corner of the bar. As I get settled on a barstool and take the menu the bartender hands me, I’m thankful to be sitting here and not alone at a table. I love people-watching and, as I turn my head to the left and scan the restaurant, I notice the view from here is great for that.
But when my head swivels back to the right, I realize the formerly vacant seat next to me is now occupied. The guy now sitting there is objectively hot. A sharp jaw, chiseled cheekbones, an olive complexion with a deep tan, and eyes that are a kaleidoscope of brown with flecks of green and amber. His dark hair is short but unruly, and his pale pink lips curve into a smile when our eyes meet.
“Any idea what’s good here?” he asks. I struggle to respond because it’s like he stole the breath from my lungs with his good looks and easy smile.
“Uh, I’m not sure. I haven’t even looked at the menu yet.”
“Let’s ask the bartender, yeah? The staff always know the best food on the menu.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink, like we’re in on some secret together. Like we’re... here having dinner together?
The temptation to look over my shoulder and make sure he’s not talking to someone behind me is nearly overwhelming, but I resist. He’s clearly talking to me, I just don’t know why.
“Sure,” I say, and give him a smile as I set the menu on the bar in front of me.
“Can I get you something to drink, lovely?” the bartender asks me as he approaches, entirely ignoring the hot guy to my right.
My eyes flick to my neighbor before I look back at the bartender and ask, “What’s your favorite cocktail on the menu?”
