“Is he cute?” I ask, feeling a familiar flutter of anxiety. “Wouldyousleep with him?”
“I honestly haven’t seen him, but I’m sure Jake knows better. Do you want me to ask for a pic?” Eva is fluffing her hair up in the mirror like we aren’t about to comb the beach for trash.
Great. Well at least if Scuba Steve isn’t interested, I still have a chance to check Wild Vacation Fling off my list.
“No, I’ll just be surprised. It’s only one night, how bad could it be?”
We walk to the tiki bar, the meeting point for the cleanup, and I’m surprised by how many people are milling about. On an island with a population of less than 500, at least 20 foreigners have given up their Sunday night on vacation. Maybe there’s some hope for future generations after all.
I’ve been feeling inspired after my tour of the turtle sanctuary and I’m desperate for more ways to give back. The last week of temple tours and street food hopping kept me busy, but now I’m ready for a project. Something I can invest my whole heart in. Something to make Grannie proud.
I want to learn more about volunteering at the sanctuary. How did Thomas, clearly American, end up giving tours here in Indonesia? Maybe I could save sea turtles too. It has to be more meaningful than anything I’ve found on TripAdvisor or travel blogs.
I notice somethingelseI’d like to do, hiding out behind the bar with a bottle of Bintang, the local lager. Eva follows my gaze and nudges me with her elbow.
“Is that him?”
“Don’t look!” I whisper, hiding my face. I was embarrassed by his earlier rejection, but I haven’t completely given up hope of changing his mind about me. Maybe the grizzly, grumpy man is just shy. I’m sure if we spend more time together, he’ll realize that I’m a delight and he’ll be happy to jump into bed with me for a casual, no-strings-attached encounter.
I should ask him about Jimmy again. Maybe there’s been an update. I wonder if he’d even tell me if something went wrong.
“Bonjour, everyone.” A woman with long auburn hair and a familiar blue sanctuary t-shirt climbs onto a barstool. Everyone gathers around. “Thank you for showing up to clean our beautiful Gili Telu!”
The crowd claps politely just as Jake appears. He and my date push through the bodies, wrapping us in warm hugs as if we’re all long-lost friends rather than strangers.
“Nice to see you again,” Jake grins at me, tossing his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. Eva settles into his arms like there’s nowhere she’d rather be and I feel the faintest tickle of jealousy niggling at my heart.
The new guy releases me from his embrace and says, “Hey, I’m Gavin.”
I’m pleasantly surprised by his nice smile and golden retriever energy. He doesn’t give off the patchouli, barefoot on public transport vibe I’d been expecting from a hostel backpacker. And judging by the fact that we’ve just met and he’s only inches away from my face, he could be a good candidate for my first one night stand.
“Shh,” Eva hushes them, turning back toward the French volunteer shouting instructions.
“—anyway, it should be super! Meet some new people, have a chat, and see you back here in one hour to celebrate with a drink. First beer is on us! Merci!”
The crowd disperses onto the beach and we split off into our own group.
“This is cool.” Jake leads the way, hunting through the scrub grass for plastic treasures. “Not how I expected to spend my vacation, but I can dig it. All the pretty girls recycle.” He’s practically making heart eyes at Eva. Ugh, get a room.
“It’s the least we can do. I feel guilty every time I buy a water bottle, but it’s not like we can drink from the tap,” Eva shudders. “Junie’s the one who found it, she rescued a turtle today!”
The boys turn to me and I smile and shrug self-consciously.
“Have you done a lot of traveling?” I ask Gavin, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. I can see Scuba Steve up ahead with a trash bag and I have to suppress the urge to hide.
“Oh yeah. I want to get to 30 before 30.” He must read the confusion in my arched brow because he clarifies, “Countries.”
“Whoa.” I think about all the plane tickets, the time, the money that would take. Is he some sort of trust fund kid?
“Indonesia is number 15. So I’ve got six years for the rest.” He stops to fish some beer bottle caps out of the sand.
God, he’s younger than me and he’s already seen so much of the world. Other than a jaunt to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls with my parents, this is my first time ever leaving the US and I’m 28.
“That’s amazing. How do you manage to get so much time off?”
“Ehh, I don’t really do well in the rat race,” he shrugs. “I do odd jobs here and there. Mostly freelancing. If it can be done on a laptop and someone’s willing to pay for it, I’m your guy.”
I let that sink in. I thought I had a pretty good relationship with the people I work for—I’d been the administrative assistant for their family-owned realty company since the day they opened—and I still had to use the Dead Grandma card to get two weeks off.
