Page 2 of Rowan's Renewal
Because I booked the trip, I got to keep the tickets. Three weeks in Australia, culminating in one week at a ‘clothingoptional, adults only, LGBTQ+ beach resort’ (per the brochure) sounded like the perfect way to get over my heartbreak.
I mean, isn’t that what people say now? That the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new?
I’m vers, so I’ll get on top, or under, or go sideways…I really don’t have a preference. As long as it isn’t with Jerry.
“And you’re going by yourself?” Vince asks, arching a dark eyebrow. He’s a big, gorgeous bear of a man, complete with a cuddly belly. But it’s his personality —always so concerned for everyone else— that really makes him attractive.
It’s a pity he’s taken. I would have offered for him to come with me, otherwise.
Get it?Comewith me?
Dear God, I need to get laid.
“I am,” I nod, grinning. “I love the idea of getting to explore by myself. I set the itinerary. I get to decide if the souvenirs I’m buying are too tacky. Just me.”
“I feel like there’s a story there,” Vince chuckles as we reach the triage station and reach for our respective clipboards.
“Jerry was an asshole,” I tell him, already flipping through the notes for my first case of the night, “that’s the whole story.”
He snorts. “That will win you a Pulitzer.”
I raise my middle finger with a laugh as we head in opposite directions.
Transferring jobs and moving halfway across the country following my breakup was a pain in the ass, but I’m making friends and settling in well…and I leave on vacation tomorrow, which is the cherry on top!
***
The first two weeks of my adventure seem to evaporate in the heat of the Australian sun. I have made my way up the easterncoast, visiting Melbourne, then Sydney, then the Gold Coast and Brisbane, but the final week has been reserved for the pièce de résistance: an LGBTQ+ Adults Only beachfront resort on the Sunshine Coast.
The promotional materials are what really drew me in. With its own private clothing-optional beach, a huge pool, brightly colored décor, and modern, recently renovated suites, the resort sounded like heaven. After two weeks of non-stop exploration and travel, drinking cocktails and relaxing at a resort before I have to fly home is exactly what the doctor ordered.
(It’s me — I’m the doctor.)
When my Uber pulls to a stop outside the resort, nestled as it is in what seems to be its own tropical rainforest, I take a moment to smile up at the welcoming main building. Painted white, the front doors are bi-folding, opened all the way to entice in the sea-breeze as well as guests. From the curb, I can see the large wooden fan suspending from the vaulted ceilings, and the white floor tiles gleam enticingly, too. It looks like a big, airy space filled with natural light — perfect for a coastal retreat like this one.
Climbing the five or so front stairs to enter the sprawling foyer, I feel instantly relaxed by how open and bright it is. They’ve brought the outside in as well, with large, leafy potted plants dotted around the space, really playing off the ‘rainforest meets beach’ aesthetic.
I already want to live here and never leave. Sadly, I’m only here for six nights before I have to fly back home.
Rolling my suitcase across the tiles towards the reception desk, I can’t help but check out the attractive man leaning over the distressed timber counter, talking quietly with the concierge. The first thing I notice about him is his thick, dark brown hair and the few silvery streaks glinting in the early afternoon sunlight. The next is his sharp, square jawline, emphasized bysalt and pepper stubble. Then my gaze travels over his strong shoulders and back, clothed as it is by a pale blue polo shirt. Sadly, his probably perfect ass is hidden behind the waffle knit sweater wrapped around his waist, over the top of baggy beige cargo pants.
The poor guy has to be sweltering in an outfit like that. Even the polo shirt material looks too thick and non-breathable for the humidity here.
Sure enough, as I get closer, I can see the sheen of sweat on his pale forehead and under his pretty blue eyes, which seem bright against the contrast of the dark bags under them.
“…apologize, Mister Stratton,” the concierge says apologetically, their nose scrunching as they type frantically at their keyboard. “I don’t know how this could have happened. The system is supposed to prevent double bookings.”
The guy’s shoulders slump, and he hangs his head. There’s something almost heartbreaking in the expression on his face; like resignation and fear combined. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and his (surprisingly American) voice is thick as he asks, “Where am I supposed to go?”
If his expression had been heartbreaking, the plaintive question is like a sucker punch.
Even the concierge’s face crumples.
“I’ve booked a two-bedroom suite,” the words leave my mouth before I can think the offer through. “I’m here for six nights. Would you like my second room for a few days? The whole time?”
The guy turns around to face me and he’s even more attractive front-on. With a perfectly straight nose dusted with freckles, bright blue (though tired) eyes, and full lips, it takes me more than a few seconds to comprehend the fact that he is speaking.
“—dn’t possibly…”
