“Only if you send me a copy,” I say.
“Deal.” She rises on her toes as she extends her arm fully, leaning into me the moment I’m standing beside her. My knees are slightly bent, so we’re both in frame.
Laughter bursts from her chest—the goose honk one.
My eyebrows draw together. “What’s so funny?”
“You are so unphotogenic.”
I turn to glower at her, only to blink when I see a flash of white light from the periphery of my vision.
“There we go,” she says, tapping at her phone. A live photo takes over the screen, one that keeps looping the moment when I look in her direction. And the laughter in her eyes while she snaps a picture of us. “Should we take another one?”
“This one’s growing on me.”
She snorts, then tilts her head to the side. “Yeah.” The corner of her mouth sneaks up. “It’s growing on me, too.”
13
BARBIE
SATURDAY, JULY 19TH
Ziplining isoff the table for obvious reasons. We pawned our tickets on Frank, who we ran into while visiting the art museum. He’s here with his wife, and like Ed, he’s also rocking a major sunburn. I’m truly convinced the higher-ups we report to are using the conference as a secret vacation, but Ethan does not believe me.
Luckily, we’re too busy partaking in other activities offered on our honeymoon package to care what our manager and his boss are up to. We did the kayaking tour near the cliffs, where I almost dropped a paddle when he offered to reapply sunscreen on my back. Joined the one-hour wine and cheese cruise at a nearby beach, where we both agreed aged gouda is delicious. Took sailing lessons at the cove, where Ethan ended up doing everything while I took a bunch of photos.
By the time the sun’s setting, we are pedaling our rental bikes along the river, far from the weekend crowd who’ve kept to the boardwalk and its beach.
I’m exhausted. My sunblock has worn off. My legs are sore. My stomach is starting to cramp. I haven’t been this active in so long, and it shows. The urge to leap off the bike and fling myselfinto the river and let it carry me off to the sea is strong, especially when I see the wooded hiking trail looming in the near distance.
“Hiking is your thing, not mine,” I groan. “I’m big on swimming. Yoga. Pilates. Yogalates. I’ll even give underwater basket weaving a shot. Any activity in environments free of bugs flying into your face.”
“It’s only three miles long,” he hollers over his shoulder. “We’ll bike through the whole thing.”
Does he not realize we’ll have to turn around at some point? Three miles is going to become six? That it’s six miles of biking into bugs?
“I’m full of cheese, Ethan,” I grumble.
Truthfully, the strategic thing to do would have been to end the day with the wine and cheese date. But I know Ethan suggested doing it earlier, before the dinner rush, so we could avoid being on a small cruise full of people.
The view might not have been as splendid as it would have been later on in the day, but the company wasn’t so bad.
“And,” I forge on, “I’m a magnet for mosquitoes.”
“We’ll get pistachio ice cream after,” he adds. As if I can be easily swayed by the delicious, earthy, and nutty frozen dessert. Which I am.
But then again, if free food is involved, I’m fucking there with bells on.
“With sprinkles?” I know I’m pushing my luck.
“And all the fixings of a sundae. How does that sound?”
I sniff, then pedal a little faster so that I’m biking alongside him. There’s a smug half-smile forming on the corner of his lips. I narrow my eyes at him. His grin widens.
“When my legs are on life support tonight,” I grumble, “you better be the one givingmea show in the hot tub.”
My legs aren’ton life support, thanks to what I can only assume is divine intervention. Although the series of proper stretches we both did after returning the bikes probably helped.
