I close my eyes. I really do have to go. “Yeah, that.”
But still, I don’t move. Not until I feel a hand pull on my chin and a wet warmth cover my nose, a sharp little nip accompanying it. My eyes open in shock as I see her pull back.
“Sorry,” she says, as she comes down from her tiptoes, her fingers on her lips. “I just had to do that.”
God, she's so fucking class.
“Save it for tomorrow, cupcake,” I say.
“Tomorrow?” she says looking confused.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning down to pick up my bag while also very quickly adjusting my jeans. “Same time, same place?”
“Okay.” Her hand still covers her mouth so I can’t see if she’s smiling. I really hope she’s smiling.
“Tomorrow,” I say as I start walking backwards. I say it again before I turn around. And I say it one last time, over my shoulder, before I leave the bar.
The Next Day
Chapter Nine
Jenna
The sunrise wakes me up and it's so astonishingly pretty that I don't even mind it depriving me a few of the eight hours’ sleep I try to get. My brother chose my villa especially because it sits on the top curve of the hillside the whole resort is pitched against, and I have a panorama-style terrace that lets me catch the soft silver-blue sky at sunrise as well as the deep pink glow of sunset.
I wrap a robe around my body as I make my way onto the balcony to watch the sky change colour. I stand there in awe of the promise-filled, silver-pink-hued view for many long minutes until briefly, spontaneously, I wonder if Marty likes sunrises as much as sunsets. And then I push aside his name along with the sinking feeling of rejection which accompanies it.
As if to reward this effort, the doorbell rings and I rush to answer it, tightening my robe around my waist.
“It’s a fucking disaster!” my brother exclaims as I open the door. Carrying a wide room service tray, he pushes past me.
“Good morning, dear brother,” I say to his back. “What’s today’s drama?”
“I’ve been summoned for a last-minute meeting with the Bouras’, all five of them. And before nine o’clock in the morning! I may as well pack my bags and hide in your walk-in closet until we can both fly home on Friday together.” With the large tray balanced on one shoulder, he waltzes through the villa and out onto the terrace.
“Did you carry all of this up the hill?” I ask in awe.
“God, no. Lionel gave me a lift,” he says as he sets the tray down. “You know I try not to sweat until at least 11 am. Haven't managed it a single day since I’ve been here, but as the wise man said, I gotta have faith.”
“One of Jesus’ wise men?” I frown.
“No, no. George Michael.”
“Right. So, this meeting. Sounds like you’re assuming the worst, Jakey.” We both start unloading all the plates and bowls. My mouth salivates at how good all the food looks and my stomach starts to growl. It’s a growl that sinks a little lower in my body when I recall why I didn’t eat last night. Marty. Marty and the way I went home to my villa, dove under my sheets and with my hand between my legs, I replayed our mysterious magical sunset together until I came... seven times. It was worth skipping dinner for and I blush at the memory as I listen to Jake.
“Well, the family are hardly going to drive halfway across the island to give me a pay rise. Not to mention how there is no money for a pay rise because of last year...”
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but last year was not your fault. You weren’t even working here then.” I start pouring coffee in cups.
“It doesn’t matter. I told the family I would turn this place around and that’s what they hired me to do.” Jake places the tray against the wall behind him before sitting.
While Jake is happily working in his dream role as manager of a beautiful, sumptuous destination, it’s not without its challenges. Iliovasílema Villas suffered a terrible season last year after it was locked down due to a freak gastrointestinal virus that spread like wildfire through the staff and the guests. It seems even having the most spectacular sunset views on the whole island will do little to eradicate a resort’s reputation for being a hotbed for a stomach bug that had people unable to leave their rooms for days. It doesn’t help that more than a few photos of the makeshift tent hospital that was erected to treat the worst patients appeared all over social media and on many news outlets.
“And you are doing it, Jake,” I say. “Look at how spectacular this place is. The facilities are incredible, the weather has been perfect, and bubble bath debacles aside, all the guests seem happy...”
“All one hundred and twelve of them?” He falls back in a chair. “Jenna, this resort has capacity for three hundred and sixty guests. I am less than half-full.”
“It’s early season,” I offer.
