The subdued sounds of fellow passengers eating off china plates, with metal utensils, soothed her anxiety-driven impulse to pace the aisle. Anna tightened her seat belt and rested her elbow on the armrest next to her, letting her gaze move across the clouds toward the changing colors of the horizon.
She turned fifty, and her life turned upended. Here, some thirty-odd thousand feet in the air, she could finally take a breath. Yes, she had taken a lot of breaths at the workshop and more breaths every time she was with Liam, but those inhales and exhales were bound by cages woven from silky ribbons of excitement and desire.
These breaths, in the plane, were about her body claiming space needed by her emerging self. Not the melancholic or time-alone space she had in abundance. She chuckled at the butterfly image fluttering across her mental screen. Yes, she got why the image was a potent one, but she was inclined to avoid clichés.
She let her mind wander amongst the clouds in search of another image or metaphor to describe what she was going through, musing all the way through a second demitasse of coffee and landing preparations.
Moving through immigration and customs at the Los Cabos airport was hassle free. The agents smiled, stamped her passport, and waved her on. A driver from the resort held a printed sign with her name and those of two other couples. Her luggage was once again whisked from her hands. She paused before stepping into the air-conditioned SUV, welcomed the heat pouring off the concrete walkway, and donned her new sunglasses with their oversized frames.
Daniel had texted his flight was delayed. He expected to arrive by dinner and suggested she settle into her room and explore the resort. Relief swept through her. The thought of him waiting to help her out of the van had been unnerving. She smiled at the realization—she and Daniel getting together in person was the theme of the trip, after all—and sank into the comfortable seat behind her driver.
Cabo San Lucas consisted of resort after resort after resort. The one Daniel picked was at the end of a long beach, with the tall, broad shoulders of soaring cliffs guarding a smattering of creamy white buildings that clung to its base like a necklace of oversized pearls. The driver guided the SUV through a tunnel-like arcade and into the swooping curve of the entrance. Everything was open, with the clean lines that whispered expensive and exclusive and just-you-wait.
And the greenery. So many artfully placed tropical plants. So many fragrant orchids.
So many beautifully manicured guests.
At the reception desk, the young Mexican woman checking her in smiled knowingly at the information coming up on her screen. “Ms. Granger, welcome to the resort.” She tucked two key cards into an envelope and handed it to Anna. “Mr. Strauss has reserved one of our corner suites for you,” she explained. “I hope you will enjoy the ocean views. Jorge has your luggage and is waiting for you by the elevators. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, Marileña.” She didn’t recall giving her name to the receptionist, and her name wasn’t embroidered or tagged anywhere on her person. She pivoted to locate Jorge, when the young woman called her back and handed Anna’s passport across the counter.
And that would have been Marileña’s first clue as to her identity.
Jorge followed her off the elevator and opened the door to her room. He stepped away from the entrance and invited her to enter first. Anna stifled her surprise and continued to pretend luxury resorts were an everyday occurrence in her cosmopolitan life. She hoped the pesos she palmed were enough of a tip.
“Ms. Granger, I will be your personal concierge for the duration of your stay.” Jorge’s smooth voice interrupted her fiscal calculations. She’d have to begin again. “I am here for you and Mr. Strauss twenty-four hours a day. If I may show you through your accommodations?”
He gestured toward the far end of the room where a private plunge pool set the stage for a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean, the mountains that came right to the water, and crescents of sandy beaches. Next, he walked her through a bathroom, with yet more water views, spacious enough for a rainforest shower and a chaise lounge loaded with pillows.
Back in the large room, he pointed out the spa menu and the bar and let her know he would deliver a light snack to the room within the hour. He also made it clear Daniel specified he would take care of all gratuities.
“I will return with botanas and again at sunset to light your fireplace. Until then, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to call for me.”
Anna thanked Jorge and sank onto the king-sized bed once the door clicked shut.
Holy Guacamole.
If this was going to be home for three nights, she should unpack and pretend she owned the place rather than be terrified the staff was laughing behind her back at her clunky leather sandals and deer-in-the-headlight expression.
She slipped off her shoes and placed them in the closet. She opened her suitcase and took her time hanging the velvet and linen dresses Gigi and Neena had designed and made just for her. She tucked sets of lacy lingerie into one drawer and sets of loungewear into another and found a plush bathrobe waiting for her in the bathroom.
Make that two bathrobes. One a heavy terry cloth, the other a lightweight basket weave that looked perfect for the beach. Or her private terrace and plunge pool.
Anna removed her travel clothes, hung them in the closet away from her resort wear, and walked to her private pool. She spread a towel near the edge, put on her new bathing suit, and lowered herself into the water. Refreshing. Soothing. She rested her elbows on the front edge and surveyed the vista below. A few clouds hung at the horizon,
