Page 5 of Match Made in the Maldives

The plane touches down, and the friction of the water drags us to a near-stop. Lou exhales, which sounds like pressure seeping out of a tire. She doesn’t let go of her vise-grip on my hand, not until we climb out of the seaplane and wait in a covered area with picnic tables.

“We all okay?” Lou’s mom asks once we’ve deplaned. Melissa comforts Aaron, who, poor guy, made use of that doggy bag on the plane. Everyone else is fawning over Carmen, who assures us she’s fine. Lou walks back from the vending machine with water bottles and passes them out to her family.

She sidles up next to me last, and her hand shakes as she offers me a bottle. I twist the cap off and hold the container out to toast, but she struggles to get hers open.

“Here,” I say, turning the lid. “Sit. You’re shaken up.”

“I’m good.”

“Sit anyway.”

“O-okay.” She taps her water against mine as I find a spot next to her. “That scared the shit outta me.”

“Nothing those pilots haven’t seen before.”

I overhear Cass talking with the lead pilot, who admits that these storms happen once a year or so. We’ll wait here for better weather before we take off again. So Lou watches the rain fall, and I watch Lou.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass in comfortable silence as I steal looks at her any chance I can without coming off like a total creep. Lou’s so beautiful—something I’ve never outright said to her before. I’ve alluded to the fact, the way an older brother might hype up a sibling. But I haven’t ever looked her in the eye and told her that she’s pretty all the time. Even when she’s freshly woken up, sporting a haphazard bun, and still sleepy-eyed while grabbing breakfast in the kitchen. Even when she’sholding back a dam of tears during one of those heartbreaking artsy movies she loves so much. Even when she’s jet-lagged and the rain has dampened her hair.

“What’s up?” she asks, probably because I’ve been staring at her for who knows how long.

“Nothing.” I examine the ocean instead, which, yeah, still blue. But the world already looks brighter, water coming down less in buckets and more in a steady trickle. Despite the gloom, a pulse of yearning flares inside me, wishing I were here with Lou—just the two of us. Wishing she weren’t attached to some guy I can’t stand.

“So,” I say, avoiding direct eye contact with her. “What’s this work thing Tanner’s got?”

“Oh, some kind of meeting with a client. Super important.” She takes a swig of water, not looking all that disappointed that her boyfriend of over three years has skipped out on quality time with the Moores. Tanner never helped with Dave’s chemotherapy. Not that he needed to. Technically, he’s not in the family yet, so he might feel less of a sense of responsibility to them, even though they’ve only ever welcomed him with open arms.

Because Lou likes him. Loves him.

The thought of him proposing and marrying her sends a tsunami of nausea to my stomach. Guess if I’ve got one thing on him, it’s that I’m a Moore like he never could be. But if I want to keep things that way and always have this surrogate family of mine, that also means he gets to have what I never can.

Not that I’d ever be what she wants, anyway. She views me as an opportunity to win some game at a bar, a memory that comes up only when she’s drunk.

“He wanted to reschedule but couldn’t. Some bigshot client,” Lou goes on. “I didn’t get details.”

And because I can’t shut up about the lucky piece of shit, I add, “Sorry he won’t make it.”

The pilot waves us back to the plane as the weather has lightened up enough, so we both head in that direction.

“It’s whatever.” She shrugs. Then, with a flash of her smile, I almost stumble as she adds, “Glad you’re here, though.”

Chapter Three

Luna

“There’s nothing else available?” My mom’s tone climbs an octave higher. Having owned restaurants throughout her career, my mom keeps her attitude calm and kind with people in the service industry. The growing distress in her voice shows frustration not with the petite woman at the spa’s desk but with herself.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. Let me take another look.”

“They’ve got to have something,” I say to Mom as she turns around to the rest of us.

“Can’t believe I screwed this up.” Her brows crinkle, and I can tell she’s mentally beating herself up about this. If anyone ever asks where my perfectionist tendencies come from, I have an idea.

When she arranged arrival-day spa treatments for everyone, my mom booked four couple’s massages and a single massage for Finn. When I made up the excuse about Tanner’s work trip, she emailed changes to the resort. A miscommunication meanswe now have only the couple’s massages with no available time slots today or tomorrow.

The person at the front desk apologizes again. “We can reschedule some or all of your party for later during your stay, if you’d like.”

After a quick scan of the rest of my family, it’s obvious that after such lengthy travel, some of them had their hearts set on a massage—myself included—though I care more about making sure that everyone else is satisfied. I won’t make everybody wait for this.

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