As I lay on the couch, which is a sectional so luckily it is big enough, I can hear the waves crash against the shore outside. A soft breeze wafts through the still-open doors, and the air is a little chillier than I expected. It smells like rain.
I grab my phone and check the weather app. My heart drops through a trapdoor in my chest and lands in my stomach.
Severe storm warning.
At the same time, I get a notification from the airline.
Airlines have cancelled all outgoing flights for tomorrow.
Fuck.
Chapter 4
Harper
Aloud crack rips me out of a deep and sound sleep. This bed is like a cloud. Obviously, it’s not my bed. My bed is lumpy and has a spring on the right side that’s threatening to break through. As the room materializes around me, I bolt upright in bed when I remember where I am.
Costa Rica.
Secluded villa.
With Asher.
Ugh.
Another crack shakes the glass, followed by a bolt of lightning that feels like it’s right outside the window. A thunderstorm?
“No, no, no,” I gasp as I jump out of bed and rush into the living room. I stand in front of the windows that are currently being pummeled by sheets of rain and gusty winds. I shake my head, hands clasping my hair. “It can’t be raining.”
“Well, it is,” Asher says dryly as he listens to what sounds like local news on his phone while he sips a cup of coffee. “Half of this is in Spanish,” he mutters.
“Of course it’s in Spanish,” I say, marching barefoot over to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee myself. “We’re in Costa Rica.”
I listen as the reporter rattles off.
Tormenta severa.
Advertencia de inundación repentina.
No viajar.
“Severe storm, flash flood warning, do not travel…” I sigh.
“That’s not good,” Asher says, turning the volume down and setting his phone on the counter.
“No, it is not,” I mumble. My stomach sours. “What about our flight? Is it?”
“All flights are down, incoming and outgoing,” he answers.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “This is not happening,” I say, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes and shaking my head.
“On the bright side, you dodged a bullet,” he says.
I pull my hands away. “How do you figure?”
“It would’ve been a shitty honeymoon,” he says with a tiny smirk.
I give him a look that could kill. “You’re not funny.”
