Page 13 of The Best Wrong Move

I spent the rest of the evening sitting in the dark, watching Rex have a grand old time on the beach just beyond our shared patio with a small group of friends, like I was a skeezeball stalker.

I’m not proud of it.

Far from it, actually, but the investigative journalist in me reared her ugly head and I couldn’t look away. I had to study what he’s doing here, and who he’s doing it with.

One woman in the group seemed particularly interested in Rex. And byinterested, I mean all over him. And he was all too happy to return the favor.

She was stunning. The only thing worse than sharing a wall with my ex is sharing a wall with my ex while he promptly moves on — with a woman who rivals Barbie herself.

I stumble to the coffee maker, wishing my own version of Ken with the thick biceps from yesterday would come back, so I could promptly move on too.

Without a Starbucks on every block, like there is back home, I need to figure out this new machine. It looks much fancier than the one we had in New York. I pour a heap of coffee grounds into the spot that looks like grounds should go, then fill up the water tank, and pray for the best when I push theBrewbutton. While the pot bubbles to life, I can’t help but think back to everything I saw last night.

Miss Interested-In-Rex was sporting thick platinum hair, wavy in all the right places, with naturally sun-bleached highlights framing her cute little heart-shaped face. She also inherited her eye size from Bambi, apparently. Athletic, yet curvy in all the best places, she reminds me of one of those sporty surfer girls I’ve seen in competitions on television, complete with a deep tan and toned arms.

In short, she’s everything I’m not. Part of what made me so recognizable from the proposal clip, besides my hundreds of hours of airtime onThe Good Day Show, is my face. I have a dark collection of freckles across the bridge of my nose, surrounding a pair of cobalt-blue eyes and dark chestnut hair.

I’m cute, sure, but I look nothing like her. Cute and stunning are two very different things.

Waiting for the pot to work its magic, I close my eyes as each minute of last night shoots through my brain like a machine gun. Playing like a movie in my head — one I never should have watched in the first place.

The way Rex’s eyes lingered on her wherever she moved.

His hand grazing and grabbing at her hip while she smiled up at his face, drawn to each other like magnets. Pulling her body closer to his.

A smile tugging at his lips each time she laughed.

The same smile that used to tug at his lips for me.

And finally, the cherry on top of the whole awful night — the moment they kissed. Dark waves lapping up behind them, a raging bonfire illuminating their silhouettes as they came together. A nearly full moon above, accentuating the outline of their bodies pressed into one thick shadow, in what must have been a quiet moment away from the rest of the group. When their lips touched for the first time, I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Wrapped under a blanket of stars, a perfectly cloudless night.

I had gone to bed after that. Feeling the full defeat of what I was watching wash right over me. It’s not like I want him back, but I don’t want to witness him moving on to someone new either. I should have just gone to bed without spying, but curiosity got the best of me.

I rummage through a nearby cupboard, looking for a mug. My hand finally lands on one, just as my headache takes another sharp turn and I’m reminded of the bottle of sweet, sparkling prosecco I consumed last night. I pull the carafe of coffee off its base and pour thick black liquid into my cup.

A few specks of coffee grounds spring to the surface.

Naturally. Because of course they would.

Is Rex here to escape the same cynicism from strangers that I’m trying to escape too? He said he wasn’t ready to get married. Wasn’t ready for me to pop the question. But, somehow, he was ready to jump into what looks like it could be a serious relationship with this new woman?

I rub the pulsing spot over my forehead.

No.

There is no way I can stay on the other side of the wall from him.

“Just take the financial hit,” I say aloud to myself. “Just take the financial hit and go.”

Heartbreak should not be this expensive.

I grab my phone.

I need to call my old New York apartment manager to see if any apartment is available and I can move back into my building. Just for another month or so, while I figure something else out.

I stare at the clock, doing the math in my head. If it’s six in the morning here in Hawaii, it’s already noon in New York. Which means Sonya should be at the apartment management desk to take my call. But after the tenth ring, I realize that it’s Sunday. The leasing office is closed on Sundays. She won’t be available until tomorrow.

Whether I like it or not, I’m going to be here for at least one more day until I can figure it out. I pray to God the Airbnb guy shows up with the blinds soon, so I can start writing in peace. But first I need to clear my head.

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