It felt odd to be doing all this work to avoid a storm when the day outside was sunny and clear. I gazed through the glass wall across the mottled sea toward the verdant slope of Saint Ann. Out on the water I spied Rick’s fishing boat cruising toward the resort pier, hidden around the bend of the island where Cole’s giant new yacht was docked. The asshole could buy a yacht, but he couldn’t fly his crew to safety. No surprise there.
The immediate need for arrangements to move fifty-four people to a different country had briefly taken my mind off my physical and emotional troubles, but the sight of Rick’s boat reminded me of the far-reaching impact this storm was likely to have. There was no denying the very real possibility that the island might no longer be a place we could shoot a film after this. Despite Cole’s claims, I couldn’t imagine these over-water bungalows weathering much more than a thunderstorm. Our cameras and computers would fly with us, but would the rest of our film equipment survive? Would there be electricity? Clean water?
I had the sinking feeling that a postponement of the film signaled the end. Which, I realized, meant I might never see Rick again. An uninvited lump formed in my throat at the thought. It wasn’t fair. I liked him. I really liked him. But it didn’t matter. As much as I hated it, with the recent turn of events, separation was probably for the best. I hadn’t yet had the time or brain space to formulate a plan as to how to address my current predicament, but no matter what I decided, it didn’t bode well for our budding romance.
“Okay,” Francisco said, hanging up the phone. “I’ve got it down to two hotels, and they’re across the street from each other. We can divide everyone up on the plane.”
“Nice work.” I raised my palm, and he slapped it. “Wheels up is at one tomorrow, so I’ve reserved a ferry at eleven and a bus to shuttle us to the airport on Saint Ann. Breakfast at nine thirty. The hotel staff that haven’t already left will be traveling on the ferry with us to Saint Ann and sheltering in a church there.”
“You’re a rock star,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, relieved we’d made all the arrangements. “Make sure you tell everyone to take all of their belongings with them. If the storm’s a bad one…”
“Aw.” He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “This is so sad. It’s been fun, hasn’t it?” Not exactly the adjective I would have chosen, but I was glad he thought so. He looked out at the sea. “I’m gonna go meet some guys for a last game of volleyball on the beach. You wanna join?”
“Thank you,” I said, “but I need to pack. Have fun.”
He gave me a little wave as he headed for the door, and I returned to my computer screen to check the names one last time.
“Look who I found,” Francisco called from the doorway.
I heard the door slam behind him as I turned to see Rick, looking more serious than I ever recalled seeing him.
“What are you doing over here?” I asked with a smile. “I figured you’d be storm prepping.”
“I’m in the middle of it. Came over to collect Cole’s boat to put it in safe storage on Saint Ann, but he wouldn’t let me take it.”
“He wants to keep it here? Won’t it—I don’t know, sink?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s his boat. I can’t force him to protect it.” He scanned the mess of papers spread across the table before me. “Is this a bad time?”
I shut my laptop and laughed. “It’s always a bad time, but not for you. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I hear you guys are flying to Guyana tomorrow.”
I rose to hug him. “Yeah.” Time slowed as we lingered with our arms around each other. I rested my head on his chest, storing the memory of his strong body against mine, the light smell of his aftershave mixed with salt air. After a moment, he pulled away just enough to force me to look up at him.
“Hey,” he said, his caramel eyes searching mine. “You okay?”
No. I wasn’t. The lump in my throat swelled. “I…” I wiped away a stray tear with the back of my hand, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He bear-hugged me, which only made me cry more. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. I took a deep breath and looked up at him.
“Do you wanna talk?” he asked.
Brave man.
I nodded. “I just need to get a tissue.”
He smiled and released me. “Okay.”
In the bathroom, I blew my nose, then splashed my face with cold water and rubbed depuffer under my eyes as I tried to figure out what exactly to say to him. I didn’t have to tell him, of course. I’d only known him a couple of weeks, and it was unlikely I’d ever see him again after tomorrow. We hadn’t even slept together. But he’d been kind to me; he’d reminded me that there were good guys out there.
And since we couldn’t end up together anyway, what was the harm in telling him the truth? Sure, I didn’t like the fact that I’d allowed myself to be taken advantage of—the optics weren’t great, but I was sick of optics. I was sick of trying so freaking hard to be cool, of caring so freaking much what everyone else thought of me.
I found him outside, lounging on the daybed in the shade of the palapa. I sat next to him, and he took my hand. “I’m pregnant,” I said. I waited for him to flinch and remove his hand, but he didn’t. “I was
