Page 46 of Paradise in Progress
Seriously, what’s happening here?
Tristan’s hand interrupts my thoughts as he waves it, encouraging me to follow Destiny through the vacant lobby.
Long gone is the beautiful sunset. But in her place is a mixture of dark blues as the sky has fallen into complete darkness. The warmorange glow from lampposts illuminates the sidewalks as we make our way to the end of the resort. Cicadas are the only soundtrack we need as both of us seem to be lost in our thoughts.
My mind is swirling, in a battle with itself as I fight the urge to grab hold of Tristan and feel his body against mine. But at the same time, he’s still Tristan Nelson, the man I swore was my enemy. I’m stuck rethinking everything. Was the competition one-sided? Have I made a bigger deal out of our history?
It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m a constant over-thinker, and I have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, almost an inner paranoia I haven’t been able to work past. Maybe it’s from years of wanting to stand out in a town that constantly looked past me. Or the competitive nature I adapted from years of fighting for my place in school to be the best and win scholarships that would lead me to my dream college.
Warm sand covers the weathered boardwalk, still warm from the hours in the sun. The gritty feeling slides between my toes, making my steps slow as my foot slides against the footbed of my sandal. Reaching beside me, I grab Tristan’s forearm and feel the muscles flex underneath my touch.
“You okay?” he asks, pausing next to me as his other hand grips my wrist that’s clutching him.
“Yeah,” I say, bending down to unclasp my sandals and carry them instead. “I keep getting sand in my shoes.”
“Well, we are at a beach,” he snarks. But the comment doesn’t grate on my nerves like it normally would. No, it’s playful, and I kind of like it.
Have I been reading into his smart-ass comments all wrong? Has he been playing with me, and I’ve twisted everything into a darker meaning?
I don’t have a chance to ponder as we climb the few stairs to one of the piers. Pausing again, I slip my sandals back on, not wanting to risk a splinter. Chatter at the end of the pier draws my attention as I notice a group of resort staff inside the black structure. Light pours from the windows as music plays. Walking down the planks, the wood creaks beneath our steps. We pass a small sitting area with cushioned chairs and a large stone fire pit. Heat licks across my skin from the roaring flames as we pass by.
“Tonight, the kitchen is providing a tasting menu. They’ve been busy working on new recipes, and as a trial run, they’ll be serving the staff and, of course, you too,” Destiny informs us as we stop outside the restaurant.
Lullaby Lagoon sits over the water at the end of the pier. What I thought was black is a dark brown stain covering the exterior, with medium-brown stained shutters over the windows. What’s unique about this restaurant is that there aren’t walls separating the inside from the outside. Instead, it’s an open space that provides unobstructed views of the ocean on three sides.
A waist-high picket fence separates the space as the property encourages indoor and outdoor dining options. Black wicker chairs and gray metal tables line the outdoors, while white chairs and silver tables brighten the interior. Candles are lit on every table and tan woven chandeliers glow from above. It’s a very intimate setting.
Staff quiets as we walk past, and I hate that they feel the need to do so. With a smile, I wave as we enter, hoping to reassure the group that they do not need to act differently on our behalf.
Destiny escorts us past an outdoor sectional that hangs off the side of the pier on its platform to a secluded table on the patio. Like the other tables we passed, this one has a few more candles and glasses waiting for us.
Tristan slides my chair out for me as I sit, and my belly swarms with butterflies. “Tristan, what is all of this?”
“Dinner,” he says with a grin, before taking the seat across from me. I’m stuck in a trance when our eyes meet. For some reason, this feels a lot more like a date than a dinner to sample the menu. Maybe I really am hungry and the champagne on an empty stomach has gone straight to my head.
“But why are we not eating inside with the rest of the staff?”
He shrugs. That stupid shrug of his gives nothing away. Since I won’t be getting any more answers from him, I grab the menu, which is sitting on top of the place setting.
A waiter approaches and pours us each a glass of water. “Hello, I’m Zeb. Can I interest either of you in a glass of wine?”
“Top-shelf bourbon, neat, please,” Tristan orders while I scan over the menu, trying to decide what entree I’ll go with so I pick the correct wine.
“And for you, miss?”
“The house red, please.”
“Certainly,” our waiter says, scribbling down our order. “I’ll bring out a few appetizers the chef has prepared as well.”
Once our waiter leaves, I scan the property in front of me. I’ve never been one to dream about my wedding, or even a honeymoon, but sitting here under the stars, with the mountains and jungle surrounding us, as the waves lap against the wooden beams of the pier, I understand the fascination. For maybe the first time, I can picture being on vacation in paradise with someone you love.
It’s not long before our waiter returns with our drinks. He places the glasses in front of us before reaching onto his tray to set down our appetizers. The tasting tonight is nice since we have an opportunity to try a variety of menu options.
“Here you have our pan-fried scallops, with a cornbread breading and anchovy mayonnaise, our panko-crusted crab cakes served with mango, chili, and scallion salsa, and lastly, our curried butternut squash soup garnished with herbed croutons, roasted cashews, coconut cream, and chive oil. Enjoy.”
My mouth waters at the food in front of me, and maybe at the man across from me too. From my vantage point, I have the perfect opportunity to take him in and all his handsome qualities. Not much about Tristan has changed. A smattering of dark brown hair still covers his face, only his beard has been cut shorter, taking on a permanent five o’clock shadow, while his golden skin is even darker, thanks to his evenings spent in the plunge pool.
I watch in fascination as his forearms flex when he cuts into a scallop. And seriously, what is it with his forearms? Thick veins journey up his arms, and it’s seriously like forearm porn. My body begs me to find a way to be wrapped up in his arms again. Sitting on the trampoline in his embrace felt natural, like it was something we’d been doing for years.
