How to Honeymoon Alone

“Still not what I do most days,” he says, “but I take your point. What about you? Do you miss telling off unruly little kids for running with scissors?”

“That almost never happens.”

“Almost isn’t never.”

“No,” I say with a chuckle, “it’s not.”

Phillip’s eyes dip briefly to my lips. My breathing grows shallow, nerves erupting pleasurably in my stomach.

“We could do something to pass the time,” I say.

“Hmm. Any ideas?” He’s closer than he was when we sat down. Have I moved? Has he?

“Um, there’s a lot of sand. We could build a sandcastle?”

“We could,” he says. “But I haven’t done that in twenty years.”

“We’d probably disrupt the turtles, too.”

“Yes, and we can’t have that,” he says.

“No. Conservation is… important.”

“Mm-hmm.” He’s close enough that I feel his warm exhale against my cheek. “Staying put is a safer bet.”

“Yes. Much.”

There’s a second, and then another, of tantalizing closeness. The almost-before-it-becomes-a-certainty, when anticipation is a physical weight in my chest.

Then, our lips touch.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

He tastes like fresh coffee and rum, and I close my eyes against the nearness. It’s foreign and not quite right, but then he tilts his head, and all of a sudden, we fit. His lips move steadily on mine.

Like he’s thought about kissing me before.

Energy runs in a current down my spine, and the sound of waves and other volunteers talking have turned down to mute.

My hand finds his shoulder, right where it meets his neck.

“Come here,” he says hoarsely and turns toward me fully. An arm around my waist pulls me in closer, and then we’re kissing again. The fit is even better now, with his chest against mine.

He runs a hand along my back, and I shiver at the too-light, teasing touch. My nerves feel electrified, and my skin’s too thin, as if I’m feeling the world too strongly.

His tongue brushes over my lower lip, and then he’s there, too, the kiss deepening. I can hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

Of course, he’s good at this.

His hand brushes over my cheek and settles in my hair, holding my face still. And if he’s allowed touching, then I am, too, and my hand moves from his neck to his hair.

The short strands are thick and slightly roughened by sea and sun, and I twine my fingers through them. My nails accidentally scrape against his scalp.

He groans against my mouth, and the sound tightens something in my stomach.

“Fuck, Eden,” he murmurs against my lips. The hand on my back tugs me closer. “If I’d known…”

I chuckle and press my lips to his again. I’m not done. Not done with the warmth, the closeness, with the not-thinking.

A sharp call nearby makes not-thinking impossible. “It’s happening! The first turtles are emerging!”

Excited whoops reach us from the other end of the beach.

“Keep a look out, everyone! No dogs! No mongooses!”

“Mongeese,” I whisper against Phillip’s lips.

He chuckles quietly and leans back, his eyes meeting mine. The look in them makes my throat dry. “Yeah. It’s showtime, Eden.”

I get up on shaky legs. He follows suit, standing tall beside me. But he’s not as unbothered as he looks. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair before he joins me by the closest nest.

A turtle breaks through the percolating sand surface. It’s a tiny thing, a perfect miniature replica of the large turtles we’d seen at sea just a few days ago.

A new life begins.

There were a lot of things I hoped or expected to do on my non-honeymoon. Seeing baby turtles hatch and make their way to the ocean was definitely one of them. But kiss a fellow tourist beneath the stars?

Well, kiss a fellow tourist anywhere, let alone on a moonlit beach. In the three months since Caleb and I broke up, I’ve not given dating a single thought.

Well, maybe one thought, but never two, because it inevitably reminded me of terrible first dates and the dating apps that people use. Life was so much simpler when I reconnected with Caleb over a summer vacation from college.

Not that Phillip and I are dating or anything, or even close to it.

All we’ve done is kissed. Once.

It had been a hell of a kiss, too. The kind that reminded me why humans kiss at all, why this odd ritual so unique to our species is a thing. Objectively weird and subjectively amazing.

We’d said goodbye back at the hotel, well after midnight. Phillip brushed my hair back, and I stood very, very still, and then we’d gone our separate ways. Me toward the elevators and him toward his private bungalow.

It’s the next morning now, and I’m buzzing at the breakfast table. Hummingbirds are native to Barbados, but right now, it feels like all of them are in my stomach, their wings beating rapidly.

He rarely shows, but he sometimes does, just to grab a cup of coffee. Maybe today will be the day.

I have my notepad open beside me on the table, my character notes and the plot ideas there to be worked on, but I don’t write a single word.

Phillip might behave as if never happened. I don’t know how I’ll react to that. But there’s an even worse alternative, and that is he might not, and I really don’t know what I’ll do, then.

It’s not like I’m… ready. Definitely not ready to date anyone. That’s not even in the cards here because we’re both leaving in a week. But I’m not sure I’m ready to have a wild holiday fling, either.

Becky would be cheering me on to do just that. Let me live vicariously through you!