Page 5 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“I’ve got your accommodations worked out. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were traveling with someone.” He turned to Bridget. “We’ll need to fill out separate paperwork for your luggage, Ms.—”

“We’re not traveling together,” she declared like she might get it stamped on her passport. She stepped in front of me, squeezing up to the counter. “I did miss the ship, though. So, I guess I need some help.”

She glanced over her shoulder, catching my eye in a quick, almost reflexive search for approval that surprised me.

I gave her a nod of encouragement, guilt warming the back of my neck. What I’d said before had sounded sexist. I didn’t mean to imply women couldn’t travel alone, of course. It was just that this particular woman had a sort of rare innocence about her. For Christ’s sake, she thought the ship was just on a coffee run. Even in heels, she only made it to my chin, and now that we were close, I could see her hair was . . . various shades of dark pink? With some purple in there too. Not in a gaudy way—it was surprisingly pretty—but still, she had rainbow hair. Just the thought of her stranded alone here shot my blood pressure up. A million things could go wrong.

She was right, though, I’d missed the ship too, and I’d been kind of an asshole. I wanted to make up for it by helping her with this.

Bridget’s colorful ponytail swished in front of me, sending the pleasant scent of grapefruit drifting my way. Suddenly aware that I didnotsmell like fruit after sweating my balls off on that zip line, I stepped back.

“Yes. Well, as I told Mr. Callaway, you’ll have to fill out these forms. The luggage you have left on the ship will be transported to the final destination. You can pick it up there.” Marco sighed at having found himself in front of another logistical nightmare. “Fill this out and I’ll work on a place for you to stay. Would you like to be in the same hotel as Mr. Callaway?”

“Oh . . .” Bridget turned and looked up at me, her hip cocked to the side. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I smiled like a puppy at the pound hoping to get adopted.Jesus.

“I guess we’re friends now, Nick,” she said. “We’ll be sharing a ride somewhere tomorrow, anyway? To get to the airport?”

“Probably.”

She seemed relieved by that. “Okay. Yes, please put us together.”

“Splendid,” said the ship agent. “Settle in. It will be a while until I get you a shuttle.”

Fucking splendid.

The ride to the hotel was mostly quiet, me slumped into a sticky bench seat at the back of the van, Bridget in the seat in front of me, her knees tucked under her, staring out the window. We’d been traveling for forty-five minutes in the same direction as I’d come from. I’d wondered if I’d see the banana cart that stranded me here, still on the side of the road. Bridget hadn’t said much, but she didn’t seem overly bothered either. She’d doused that little flicker of fear I’d seen with a wide-eyed appreciation of the scenery.

Her head swiveled as we drove further inland, taking it all in—the fading view of the beach, the almost pervasive greens of the trees and plant-life. I watched her press her face against the window and thought about reminding her how many filthy hands had touched that glass. Then I mentally kicked myself for being so awkward with her even in my own thoughts.

She was uniquely gorgeous, I’d noticed in the hours we’d spent waiting for this van. In addition to pint-sized and feisty. Her high, sloping cheekbones were the kind I’d always associated with vampish Victoria’s Secret models, but her eyes were huge and sweet, and her lips were permanently smiling. Just looking at her made my own mouth tip into a grin, which rarely happened these days.

We finally pulled into the circular, crushed-stone driveway of the hotel, and she tipped her head back, taking a deep breath. The sun was on its last legs now and the warm air from the window made the ends of her ponytail flit in the light from a line of tiki torches. This hotel wasn’t cheap. The front facade was all teak, with warm light spilling from the tall, rectangular windows of the lobby. Sprawled as far as we could see on either side were thatch-roofed bungalows with brightly colored lounge chairs set in front of each door. I counted four pools just from my vantage. I had a feeling Marco hadn’t picked this place for me.

“This is unbelievable,” Bridget breathed. She swung in my direction, fixing me with amber eyes that reminded me of those tiger’s eye marbles I had as a kid. “Did we just win the lottery?”

I stared back at her, flat-faced. We were stranded in a foreign country with just what we carried in our pockets. I’d hardly consider it a lucky-penny moment. Beautiful or not, there was something seriously wrong with this woman.

“The cruise company isn’t covering this hotel,” I said. “This place must cost a fortune. Not to mention the cost of getting back to the States.” The shuttle rolled to a stop and I unbuckled. “Where are you from?”

“Boston.” I could have guessed. She had the slightest accent, but it was more Kennedy than Southie. “You?”

“Philly.”

She smiled. “We both boarded in New York, then?”

I stood and pulled the straps of my backpack over my shoulders. Bridget hadn’t moved and it occurred to me for the first time that she didn’t have any luggage. I at least had the extra underwear I’d packed in my backpack. I also had my phone charger, my wallet, and the little green tin.

“Yeah,” I said. “My car’s there. I guess that’s where we have to get back to. The ship isn’t stopping again for us to meet up with it.”

“Oh.” Her nose scrunched and in the dome light that had just switched on, I saw little freckles sprawled over the bridge. It seemed like she hadn’t thought much about the logistics of this fiasco yet. I’d spent the entire ride considering the options—where I would have to fly into, if the cruise company would help me get a flight home once I got there or if I’d be on my own trying to book at the last minute. How many days this would add to my time away from work. I had projects to deal with; one in particular that was languishing on my dad’s desk while I sailed around the Caribbean for Alex. Didn’t she have somewhere to be?

“Welcome,” the driver said in accented English as he opened the van door. He swept his arm out, revealing the property to us.

Bridget still hadn’t moved.

“This is where we sleep and eat,” I said, rolling my hand impatiently.

She blinked up at me and I caught another rush of guilt. She looked tired and unsure, like it was all hitting her. No doubt due to my harsh reminder.

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