Page 26 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

I hear a vague response from Molly, but she’s not loud enough for me to understand what she’s saying. When I turn to look at her, she’s got her soaked shirt and shorts draped over one arm, and she’s shivering in just her bathing suit.

And though it’s the last thing I want to do, I open the door to the hut, beckoning her to come inside.

Here goes nothing.

Nine

Molly

I havesome reservations about our sleeping quarters.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic, but this is my worst nightmare,” I say as I stare into the dark interior of the hut, not moving forward.

“Really?” Beckett shoots me a skeptical look before elbowing past me. Then he steps inside the hut, ducking as he passes through the doorway. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder. “So when you fall asleep at night and wake in a cold sweat, it’s because you were dreaming of being stranded on a desert island with your brother’s best friend? Stranded for a few daystops,with basic shelter and drinking water at your disposal? That’s what gives you nightmares?”

Well. If he’s going to be alllogicalabout it.

“Fine,” I huff. “No. This is not technically my worst nightmare.” I swallow, pointing at what I can see of the hut’s interior. “But what kind of little critters and bugs are in there? And are they going to crawl all over me in the night?”

“And here I was, relieved that you weren’t going to act like a diva,” he says under his breath.

I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not! I like being outdoors. I like camping and stuff. But being concerned about contracting rabies or malaria does not qualify me fordivastanding.”

“Just get in here,” Beckett says with a sigh before turning away from me.

All right. It’s fine. True, anything could be lurking in there, and true, I’ve got a lot of exposed skin for little beasties and buggies to find, but…but…

Crap. I need an upside. Where’s the upside?

The roof! There’s a roof. That’s a positive for sure.

Also a positive: the bug spray I brought along. I dig it out of my bag quickly and then coat myself in a solid three layers before chucking it back in and following Beckett.

I’m short enough that I don’t have to duck through the doorway like he did. The fading light outside means it takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but once they do, I peer around with half eagerness and half dread at the interior.

This takes me less than three seconds, because it really is that tiny. I’ve always loved the trope in books about a couple who only have one bed to sleep in, but somehow I think it’s going to be less romantic when both Beckett and I try to squeeze onto that pile of leaves in the corner.

At least I don’t see any creepy crawlies.

“Oh, they’re in here,” Beckett says when I mention this. “I’m sure they’re just hiding.”

So that’s not helpful at all.

There’s a little whine of panic in my chest, a worry that’s been growing since I went through the contents of my bag. It amplifies itself now, tendrils of fear twisting and spreading like ink in water, as my eyes take in all the places rodents and bugs could be hiding. There are boxes and crates stacked in the corner, prime real estate for rats, and cracks in the floor where there could be entire colonies of insects.

There are probably multiple breeds of spider in this hut, and they’re probably plotting my demise right this very second. They will eat me in the night, like that movie where the girl’s feet get eaten by rats, and when I wake I will be nothing more than a skeleton—

Nope. Can’t think about that. Moving on.

I look at my shirt and my shorts, still hanging over my arm, still as wet as if they just came out of the wash. Then I turn to Beckett.

“I don’t suppose there are clothes or blankets anywhere in here,” I say. My arms and legs are covered in goosebumps, and there is way more of my body on display than is helpful in this situation. I’m fine wearing my suit while I’m swimming; it’s totally cute, as it should be, since it was stupidly expensive. They don’t sell high-quality swimsuits for large-bosomed women at department stores or malls. I have to order my swimsuits and bras from a specialty store online if I want proper support. So yeah—this suit was expensive, but it’s a price I was willing to pay.

Sleepingin it, though? Especially next to Beckett? No. That’s too much.

“There might be,” Beckett says. And maybe I’m just imagining things, but I could swear that his eyes skate over my body before he says, “Anything we can find is yours, though.”

I can feel my cheeks turning pink, but I just nod. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I'm feeling a little exposed.”

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