Page 24 of Playing With Matches
“Give me a minute,” I swig some of the chilled water from a bottle before going on. Jackson is on my mind as I finish my monologue. I was the one who reminded him that it wasn’t a competition. But maybe he was right. Maybe it is. And maybe people need to be reminded that love has never been about ones and zeros. There’s never been a simple formula, and there never will be. I hit record and continue.
“I worry about all these apps that are out there now. They are supposed to make things so much easier, but do they? Or do they make us too lazy to think for ourselves, to use our imagination, and to make an effort. Why swim upstream when it’s so much easier to float around the lazy river and stay in your lane while browsing a seemingly infinite menu? That’s what apps are best at. Helping us feel like we don’t have to lift a finger, unless it’s to swipe to winnow away the choices we only review at a glance. Too old, too young, too blond, too short, too fat, too far away, too bald, too bad. Before you know it, you’re out of time. You’re out of time, out of options, and the funniest thing is, you can’t remember the faces of a single one of the people you’ve rejected. If you ran into them at the store, you wouldn’t recognize them.”
The car comes to a stop under a sheltered port cochere, and I press the stop button for the last time.
“Wow. That was really deep.” The driver clutches his chest. “You really spoke to me. Even though I met my wife on the Tinder app. I was very lucky. I feel what you are saying.”
He hops out and circles the car to open my door.
“You can proceed directly into the concierge lounge for check-in.” He launches into a well-rehearsed script now. He holds out a hand to assist me out of the vehicle. “Don’t worry about your luggage. I will hand it over to the porter, and he will deliver your things directly to your room. I hope you have a sweet stay, Ms. Fairfax, and that you find whatever it is you’re looking for here at Peaches.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for my bag to get a tip.
“No need to tip me, we are a gratuity-free property,” the driver says. “But thanks for doing your part in filling up the drive on that camera,” he winks.
The lobby of the concierge lounge is furnished with luxurious Italianate furnishings and beautiful handwoven rugs laid over travertine floors. The carved wood furniture, chenille tapestries, and massive crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling add to the luxurious ambiance. I feel as though I’ve been transported to a palazzo, even though the damp chill of the air conditioner on full blast assures me that I am still in the tropics.
“Would you like a drink, Ma’am?” a staff member in full butler attire appears as if out of nowhere. He is wearing white gloves and carrying a polished silver tray full of freshly poured cocktails that sparkle in frosted glasses. “These are bellinis, the signature drink of the Peaches Property.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking one of the peach-colored cocktails. It’s sweet, fizzy, and fabulous - the perfect introduction to paradise. “My compliments to the mixologist, this is splendid,” I say, carrying my drink with me to the check-in desk.
“Indeed. There’s a little bit of magic in those, and a pinch of good fortune,” the concierge winks. “But I see you don’t need it. You’ve already beat the rush and the bad weather. We have a handful of guests who were supposed to check in later this afternoon. I fear they won’t make it. There’s a small storm predicted.”
“Really? That’s hard to believe,” I say, glancing out at the gorgeous weather. “It looks perfect out there right now.”
“You will find that the weather changes very quickly here,” the concierge smiles. “Mother Nature likes to keep us on our toes.”
“Oh great! Isla!” I hear a familiar voice behind me as I am stepping up to the counter to get my room key. “I was hoping I would catch you in the lobby!”
Rob, dressed in a white linen shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and flip flops, rushes over to kiss both my cheeks.
“Look at you!” he enthuses, appreciating my hot pink Lily Pulitzer dress, oversized straw hat with pom poms, and electric blue sandals. “I just love this whole resort wear look on you. Not everyone can pull off color the way you do. I mean, I’m afraid to wear anything with a pattern. But on you, it’s all so good. Part of your whole magical vibe. I hope you packed a lot of it because the camera is going to love you.”
I blush at all the flattery. “I mean, I just packed what I would normally wear in the summertime,” I say. “I have a thing for vintage tropical clothing.”
“Well, you wear it well. We are so beyond lucky to have you,” Rob grins. Then he seems to notice the woman who is patiently waiting with my room keys and smiles at her. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, I’m sure you were about to tell Ms. Fairfax about her wonderful accommodations?”
“I was,” the woman smiles broadly at me. Her eyes are sparkling, and her bright smile lights up in contrast to her gorgeous, dark skin. “My name is Edwina, and I’m here for you, whatever you need, Ms Fairfax.”
In less than an instant I know how much she loves her job here. Even when the customers are a bit needy or grumpy, she loves it. Edwina loves welcoming people at the start of their vacation when the world is their oyster, and she’s a little sad when it’s time to say goodbye. But she’s also glad because she knows if she’s done her job right, they will have great memories and they will be back - again and again in many cases. And when they come back, she will remember their names, and they will remember hers. Like family.
I feel her genuine warmth radiating into my bones, an even more welcoming cocktail than the drink in my hand.
“You’ll be staying in one of our deluxe suites. There’s a king-sized bed in the master bedroom and a daybed and pull-out sofa in the living room. There are bunk beds and a trundle in the second bedroom. And your suite has an oversized patio with a beautiful ocean view. I hope that is acceptable?”
“But it’s just me,” I protest. “I don’t need that much space.”
“Nonsense,” Rob insists. “The resort puts all their VIPs in deluxe suites with ocean view rooms. Isn’t that right, Edwina?” he asks.
“We are very thrilled to have you here, Ms Fairfax,” Edwina says. “I must confess, I personally love all your novels.” She shyly pulls a dog-eared copy of the first book inThe Mystic Matchmakerseries out of one of the drawers.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “You must let me sign that. How sweet!”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Edwina blushes.
“I insist!” I say, pulling a pen out of my bag. Rob waits patiently while I finish adding a personal note and draw a smiling sun around my inscription to her.
“Mind if I ride along with you and see you to your room so we can talk about the schedule for this evening?” Rob asks, as he points to a golf cart that’s pulled up outside the lounge. My luggage has already been loaded.
