Page 8 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

I decided to ease her mind a little. “I promise I’ll be really careful, Mer. This guy I met is super uptight, like you! And he seems to know what he’s doing. I’ll let him be my Buddy System or whatever until we get to the airport, and then I’ll get on a direct flight home. I can handle a domestic flight, right?”

Meri groaned. “You’re sure you’ll make it back in time?”

A nervousness that I’d been ignoring since I realized I was stranded poked me. My entire plan hinged on being home by Friday when a gorgeous two-story Queen Anne Victorian with studio space on the first floor and a loft where I could live was going to a foreclosure auction. It was pure perfection.

Okay, that was being generous. It was dilapidated to the point where almost everything you could see needed to be replaced, but the “bones” were good. That was what the inspection report said, and I didn’t underestimate the cosmic significance of the two of us going through a rebirth together—the house and me.

Missing the ship was bad luck, but it was only Tuesday. Of course I’d be home in time for the auction.

“Absolutely,” I said. “And I’ll call you if there’s any chance I won’t.”

“Justin and I are on call.” Justin was a contract lawyer. He’d been helping me with this from the start. “You know I have your back, Brit. Forever and always.”

The corners of my eyes spilled with affection. If there was one person in this world I didn’t have to hide the messy pieces of myself from, it was her. “I’ve always known, Mer. I love you and I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up with Meri and gathered my stuff. It didn’t take long, since the list of things I had was less than most people’s list of basic necessities. Nick probably got the same call this morning, I realized as I stuck my new toothbrush into my bralette for safekeeping. I should knock on his door. We could grab breakfast together.

How will that look?A reflexive stab of caution shuddered through me. Except that caution was out of date and I hadn’t quite worked out how to live without it yet. It was like trying on a new pair of heels that were just a little higher, a little sexier than you were used to. I would eventually learn how to walk in them, but right now I was still wobbling around.

I supposed having breakfast with Nick would be the first step. It was just breakfast and we were partners in this little adventure now. Also, I hated eating alone. It reminded me of evenings watching the clock tick well past quitting time, with Sean not even bothering to call with an excuse as to why he wasn’t home.

With that depressing thought on my mind, I opened the door to the already-scorching morning sun. The Panama Canal had its own brand of hot—the kind that made your pores damp and your hair curl as soon as you stepped outside. The thick jungle air smelled sweet and made my already sleep-teased hair wing into big waves. I grabbed a few, scrunching with my fingers and hoping I wasn’t doing more damage. Meri’s voice whispered to me:For God’s sakes, Brit. You don’t need to look cute—you need to get home.

“Right,” I said out loud to Meri’s spirit. “Home. Totally on it.”

I knocked on Nick’s door and the sun burned the backs of my arms as I prepared myself for those bizarrely green eyes. The door swung open and there was Nick, standing shirtless in a pair of athletic shorts slung low on his hips. I hadn’t, however, quite prepared myself for this.

“Morning,” he said. He sounded groggy, like I’d woken him from an accidental nap rather than a good night’s sleep.

“Morning!” And I sounded like a chirping bird.Awesome.

He stretched his arms over his head and my gaze climbed the ladder of muscle on his stomach, locking on to his broad chest like I was trying to X-ray his heart. His body was athletic and defined, the kind of muscle that came from pushups and crunches, not heavy weights. I imagined him dropping to the ground and giving me fifty, that little half-smile cocking the corner of his mouth. It was a weird daydream even for me.

My mother had been accusing me of being boy crazy since I was eight. I liked to remind her that she was the one who sent me to a private, all-girls school, effectively sheltering me from a gradual introduction to the male species. When the only experiences you had with boys were perfectly safe ones on magazine covers and boy-band posters, it was hard not to be crazy about them. By the time I got to college and realized that real men were all hard lines, deep voices, and chest hair, I was equally terrified and obsessed.

“Did you get the call?” he asked. He had a T-shirt in his hand and to my utter devastation, he slipped it over his head.

“Mm-hmm.” I ignored my burning cheeks and injected some confidence into my voice. “You want to grab some breakfast before we go?”

He looked over his shoulder at his bed and I snuck a peek into his little den. His clothes were on the chair, the comforter in a ball on the floor. His hair was fairly short on the sides, a little longer on top, and he had multiple cowlicks going on up there. Rough sleeper, I decided. I bet he was one of those guys who woke up wrapped like a mummy in the sheets.

He rubbed his fist into his eye. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Okay. Yup! Totally.”Gawd, Brit.

“Dressed” for Nick just meant a different pair of shorts and the Puma sneakers he had on the day before, so it didn’t take long. By the time we were walking a path through white sand to an ocean-front cafe, a few gray clouds had settled over the sun. Costa Rica was stunning and a wisp of an idea traveled across my brain about staying, getting a job doing mud masks at the resort spa, living in a stucco bungalow. The beach would make a gorgeous backdrop for my Instagram.

“You’re shorter,” Nick said casually, his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

I paused and kicked a foot out from under the maxi-skirt I’d fashioned from my dress. “I bought these at the gift shop before I went to bed last night,” I said, wiggling my toes in my new pink flip-flops. “And this.” I pointed at my ribbed tank top where the wordsPura Vidascrolled across my chest.

Nick’s eyes bounced off the cursive, pink creeping up his neck. “Is that a toothbrush in your bra?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have any pockets.”

He slipped his backpack from his shoulders and held out a hand. “Let me take it. And your shoes.”

“Thanks.” I handed him my espadrilles and used my newly free hands to wipe moisture from my forehead.

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