‘You’re extremely pushy. It’s not endearing. Also, stop calling me Ms Parker. It makes me sound sixty.’
‘What should I call you?’
‘Just Abbey. Just call me Abbey. I’ll go to dinner too. Just leave me be. Okay?’
‘Deal. Reservation is at eight sharp.’ Oliver grinned at me impishly.
As a mother it made me instantly suspicious. I nodded in acknowledgement of the dinner reservation, and he left me to drink the rainbow.
By the time I got back to my room in the late afternoon, I was feeling significantly more relaxed than I could remember feeling in the last few months. No, it wasn’t just months; it had been years. I looked in the mirror, surprised to see my eyes were bright and clear. My face, with just a hint of today’s sun, looked radiant and made my eyes stand out a vivid blue.
I sat on the comfy couch and grabbed my phone. I FaceTimed Ella, checking in and making sure she was okay at the house. Kate continued sending her wisdom via text messages, the latest advising sagely:
Abs, it’s okay to sleep with more than one man on a holiday. It won’t mean you’re slutty. Just don’t forget to use condoms if you have more than one partner.
Was everyone’s sister like this? I suspected not. How many single men did she honestly think were at this resort? And why, pray, would a man want to sleep with me over a twenty-two-year-old cocktail waitress?
I rolled my shoulders and massaged the back of my neck to let go of the tension I was carrying. I was absolutely determined to use that bath before dinner. I ran it, hot and steamy, and sank into it, groaning in joy.
I had absolutely no desire to go to the dinner reservation, but I had agreed to, and the thought of ruining Oliver’s work-experience was enough to have me applying my makeup. I unwound my hair from the tight braids I’d put in earlier, the relief on my skull immediate, and it fell into soft golden waves below my shoulders. I had given myself a stern talking-to in the bath, emotionally preparing for dining alone, a timely reminder that feminists had fought for my freedom to do so.
I rolled the dice with the gods of fabric stains, choosing a white dress to wear.No red wine for you tonight, Abs.The sleeveless dress had delicate embroidered tiny flowers, and ruffles on the shoulders. It fell just below my knees, and I paired it with some tan heels and a tan bag. The summeriness of the outfit made it look as though I holidayed more than once a decade.
I made my way down the swept footpath to the restaurant, feeling slightly proud that I did not rely on Google Maps or GPS to get me there. There were three restaurants on the island, but Oliver had told me specifically which one I needed to go to and I approached it curiously. It was a teak building that glowed with warm, welcoming light. Jazz hits played softly, the soulful music and décor giving the restaurant aCasablancavibe which my grandmother would have adored. It smelled amazing and my belly rumbled. I had chosen to have another three drinks over any lunch today, meaning the surprise breakfast had been the only thing I had eaten. It was eight sharp, as directed, and I was starving.
‘Madame.’ The maître d’ of the restaurant greeted me. He was a diminutive man with a pristine white shirt and spoke with a French accent.
‘I’m Abbey Parker. I have a reservation at eight.’
‘Excellent, madame. If you will take a seat here, we will wait for your partner and then we will seat you.’
I stared at the man in confusion. ‘Oh, actually, I’m just by myself. The booking is for one.’
‘It is Couples’ Night at the restaurant, madame. There are no bookings for one.’
‘Couples’ Night?’ I sounded alarmed, and a little grossed out.
‘Yes. Romance. Love. You know this?’ He looked at me as if maybe Ididn’tknow about love, to the point where I began to doubt I did, too.
‘Look. I’m starving. I am not a couple, just seat me somewhere so I can eat.’ I added a belated, ‘Please?’
‘Madame, by yourself you cannot have a table. The last thing a couple needs on Couples’ Night is for a beautiful single woman to be in the restaurant. The husband might be looking at the beautiful single woman notl’amour de sa vie.’
I felt my fists clench. This guy was pissing me off. ‘This is ridiculous.’
The host stood his ground.
‘Look, I was part of a couple and, honestly, it wasn’t that fantastic. Couples are significantly overrated. Now I insist you seat me.’ I was oversharing, a clear sign of my stress, and I could feel I was about to make a scene, which was something I would not normally dream of doing in real life. Why would Oliver book me into a restaurant he knew I couldn’t get into?
A couple entered behind me, and the host ignored me to get them seated. When he came back and saw me still standing there, he huffed his displeasure.
‘Madame, we cannot seat you unless you are a couple. I suggest you go back to your room and order room service or try one of the other restaurants at the resort.’
I crossed my arms, ready to fire up at the man. ‘Listen here, buddy –’
‘Is there a problem?’ a deep voice echoed behind me.
I turned around to see a tall man in a navy linen shirt and pants the colour of burnt caramel. The colours worked beautifully together, but because he was a man I suspected he had just thrown them on and hoped for the best, rather than making conscious choices. After taking in his outfit, my eyes drifted up his chest towards his face and my breath caught in my throat as I stared, open-mouthed, at my knight in shining armour, Sir Saviour. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as images of our chests pressed together flooded back to me.
