Elise woke up to an onslaught of sunlight. It felt like the brightness might burn her retinas. She covered her face with both hands and rolled away from the open curtains. As she focused on the room around her, she felt a moment of confusion at the way things were configured. Both the dresser and door were in the wrong position. And the bathroom was on the opposite side of the room. She sat up, holding the sheet close to her body.
Wait—am I actually naked? She held out the sheet to confirm that she was, in fact, sleeping in the buff.
“Morning, sunshine,” a male voice said from beyond the open doors to the balcony. “Sleep well?”
Elise’s heart began to race and she clutched the sheet to her chest tightly. “Good morning,” she ventured, hesitance written all over her face and in her voice. “I slept pretty hard.”
The glow of sunlight was interrupted by the silhouetted figure of a tall man standing in the doorway. Elise squinted until the light adjusted and his face came into view: it was the man from the lobby on the first day of the trip. Bradford, she confirmed inside her head, trying to muster up a casual smile as she wracked her brain for some memory of the night before.
Bradford came and sat next to her on the bed. Miraculously, he looked showered, shaved, and ready to go and explore St. Barts in pressed linen shorts and a collared shirt. “I took the liberty of ordering us breakfast. It’s on the balcony.” He tipped his head at the white stone patio with its heavy railing and view of the water. Sunlight washed over the iron bistro table that was laden with china and sliver domed serving dishes.
“I need a shower.” Elise sat up and put one hand over her mouth. “And I’m desperate to brush my teeth,” she said, feeling suddenly shy and as if she’d just woken up naked next to a stranger. Which she had.
“Sure thing.” Bradford stood up from the bed fluidly, giving Elise a chance to eyeball him. He was easily sixty, but had the posture and bearings of a man a decade or more younger. Golf? Racquetball? Running? she wondered, eyes grazing his muscular calves and broad shoulders as he walked into the bathroom.
He came back and thrust a fluffy, white terry cloth robe into her hands. “Here you go, milady. There’s a new toothbrush and some toothpaste in the medicine cabinet.” Bradford stood back and smiled widely, but made no move to look away so that Elise could modestly stand up and slip into the robe.
Wasn’t he aware that women of a certain age didn’t enjoy the way direct sunlight hit them, revealing every imperfection and wrinkle? She frowned at him, but as he continued to watch her with an open grin, she slid her arms into the robe awkwardly and then wrapped it around her body as she stood, mostly covering her skin as she transferred herself to a standing position and knotted the robe around her midsection securely.
With the bathroom door locked firmly behind her, Elise flipped on the light and leaned closer to the mirror to examine her face. She was displeased to find a smear of mascara under each eye, hair that looked as though she’d run a marathon and then slept on the sweaty mess, and the kind of dry, wrinkled skin that comes from a night of too much alcohol and not enough water.
“Yuck,” she said under her breath, opening the mirrored medicine cabinet. Sure enough, there was a toothbrush there in its packaging, which she unwrapped slowly, eyeballing the other items in the cabinet.
Bradford Melton was printed on several bottles of medication from a pharmacy in Chicago, though none of the prescription names were familiar to Elise aside from nitroglycerin, which seemed about right for a man his age. She closed the cabinet and was faced with her own reflection once again.
Had she really done this? Met a man, decided he might have what she needed, and gone directly up to his hotel room with him? As she glanced around, noticing the black comb he’d left on the wash basin and the damp towel hooked on the back of the bathroom door, Elise imagined briefly that Bradford was actually her husband or her boyfriend, and that this is what it would be like to travel with a man again. She’d wake up each morning to room service and a robe handed to her by someone gorgeous and wealthy, and the rest of the things that weighed her down in life would fade, becoming minor details she could manage rather than seemingly insurmountable stressors.
After washing her face with a washcloth and running Bradford’s comb through her hair, Elise tied the robe tighter and straightened her shoulders. She honestly couldn’t quite remember how wild things had gotten the night before, but she clearly had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t as if he’d sent her away after their tryst, and it was clear that even now he wanted her to stay and have breakfast and coffee.
As she walked out onto the balcony, Bradford folded and lowered the newspaper he was looking at, resting it on the knee that he’d crossed over his other leg.
“Let me pour you some coffee,” he said with a knowing smile, looking her over as he reached for a mug and saucer and the carafe of coffee. “Sugar or cream?”
“Both, please,” Elise said, feeling shy. She sank into a cushioned chair across from him and adjusted her eyes to the morning light yet again. “This is gorgeous,” she added, sweeping a manicured hand across the horizon. The water was turquoise and inviting, and beyond the beach that fronted the hotel, a handful of yachts with colorful sails bobbed gently on the water like confetti sprinkled from above.
Bradford looked out at the water. “It’s not too shabby,” he agreed, though he didn’t sound nearly as impressed as Elise felt. “I come here every year, but I will say that this year is off to a much more exciting start than years past.” One of his eyebrows lifted playfully.
Elise accepted the coffee gratefully and took her first sip. “I like you, Bradford,” she said, wishing instantly that she’d said something less forward to him as she sat there in a robe with no makeup and no idea about whether she’d done anything to embarrass herself the night before.
To his credit, Bradford laughed, but in a way that told her he was charmed and not simply amused by her girlish outburst. “You’re pretty okay yourself, kid,” he said, winking at her and picking up his newspaper again. “Hey,” he said, peeking at her over the edge of the sports page. “I’m having a little reception on my boat tonight, and I’m hoping you’ll be my date.”
Elise paused, coffee cup held between both hands and poised at the edge of her lips. She looked at him long and hard. “You mean…on your yacht?”
Bradford chuckled, but looked slightly confused. “Yes, on my yacht. I told you last night at dinner that I was here for the regatta, and tonight is the official owner’s reception, where people can basically party hop between one another’s boats.” His eyes twinkled as he watched her face. “So, will you come?”
Elise clutched at the fabric of her robe, holding it closed across the deep V of her cleavage. “Yes,” she said, feeling excitement bubbling up inside of her. “I will definitely come.”
“So listen, honey.” Elise was following Finn across the lobby in her kitten heels. “I really think you should come tonight.”
Finn’s eyebrows shot up as he reached the front counter and glanced over at Elise. He rested his elbows on the marble counter, waiting for the concierge to finish with a phone call.
“You want me to go on your date with you tonight?”
Elise laughed and waved a hand. Her gold bangle bracelets jangled. “No, no, no! I’m inviting you along to the owner’s reception on Bradford’s yacht.” She searched his face, hoping that he might realize the importance of the fact that she’d been on the island for less than 48 hours and had already secured a date with an extremely impressive man. Instead, he just looked confused.
“I mean…yeah,” Finn said, clasping his hands together and leaning his weight on his forearms. He stared at the concierge’s back as if this might force him to wrap up the phone call and give Finn his full attention. “I could come along. I don’t really have any other plans for the evening.”
The giant fans overhead were made of bamboo shaped into palm fronds, and they turned slowly, creating a slight breeze that ruffled the potted plants scattered around the lobby.
“Okay, wonderful!” Elise grabbed his arm excitedly. “You’re in room 513, right?”
Finn nodded, glancing at her quickly before turning his attention back to the concierge.
“Then I’ll come by later and slide an invitation under your door.” She watched him, mystified by how distracted he seemed.
“Okay.” Finn nodded.
Without waiting for more, Elise walked away.
“Sir, thank you for your patience,” the concierge on duty said, setting the phone back in its cradle and giving Finn a half-smile. He wore a starched white shirt with a name tag that said Etienne. “How may I assist you?”
Finn rocked back on his heels and lifted his hands from the counter. “Yes. Hi. I was wondering if there was any sort of paragliding or zip-lining or anything I could sign up for this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” Etienne said, pulling a binder full of pamphlets from under the counter. “I’m happy to give you some ideas of activities you can do here on St. Barts.”
When Finn left the front desk a few minutes later, he had a handful of brochures for a variety of bike tours, historical sites, and private beaches. A jazzy French song played in the lobby and Finn stopped at the edge of the open area, looking out at the pool. He slid his aviator sunglasses on and watched as wealthy older couples looked at one another with the kind of calm confidence that comes from not having a single material concern in the world. He imagined that they were discussing what kind of champagne went best with sea scallops, or where they’d take their ski vacation next winter. In his hand he had information for several things he could do with his time, but in his heart he had no desire to do any of them.
Finn glanced down at the brochure on the top of the pile: a trip to the Wall House, an historic site that highlighted the island’s Swedish colonial era. He shuffled to the next one: Shell Beach. Next: paddle boarding or kiteboarding with a local company. Finn shoved the brochures into the back pocket of his cargo shorts with a sigh. It had seemed like a good idea to get out and do something active, but instead all he wanted to do was call Carina. To send her a picture of the water and tell her he wished she was here.
What was that thing he’d heard about from one of the guys he worked with whose daughter was struggling with an eating disorder? Some sort of therapy that dealt with cognitive behavior changes? As in, let’s replace your negative or pervasive thoughts with something else. If the guy’s daughter could replace thoughts of starving herself with something that made her happy, couldn’t he do the same thing with Carina? He closed his eyes behind his shades and tried to push the image of her from his mind, replacing it instead with one of him on his own, sitting in a kayak with a smile on his face and the wind in his hair.
It lasted for a whole half-second before vanishing and morphing into a scene of Carina running her fingers through his hair as he lay next to her on a Sunday morning. Then another of them having lunch at a cafe near the beach in Carmel once when they’d taken a long weekend together. With a shake of his head, Finn opened his eyes and turned away from the pool in frustration. He strode through the lobby, stopping in front of a highly-polished brass trash can to pull the pamphlets from his back pocket and slip them through the garbage can’s flap. This vacation was nothing more than a painful diversion from dealing with the reality of his situation, and so far it had been largely unsuccessful. He’d quickly come to realize that there was no such thing as running away, because no matter where he went, Carina went with him.
Tonight he’d go to the owner’s reception with Elise, and tomorrow he’d catch a flight home.