Page 10 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“She doesn’t know you; you don’t know her. I bet she wasn’t intentionally being rude toyou. She was probably having a bad day; just forget about it,” Billie soothed.
She had a point. A logical point. Although, she had looked me dead in the eye. Had she smirked, or did I imagine that part? The incident happened a mere ten minutes ago, but it was no longer fresh in my mind.
“You’re right.”
“Let’s order some room service and make it an early night, okay? We need to fuel up for a long day of doing absolutely fuck all tomorrow.” Billie grinned.
“I already looked at the menu on the flight over. I would like the veggie burger.”
“Of course you did.” Billie laughed. “Sarah, grab the tablet, it’s time to abuse the all-inclusive,” she yelled.
Was I overreacting? Maybe.
Did I have a long history of taking things to heart that I probably shouldn’t? Yes.
Did it change the way I felt in that moment? No.
I need to get a grip.
3
We had the choice of an impressive plethora of pools, seven to be precise, each offered something unique. We walked the resort before breakfast to gain some understanding. It was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure two weeks would be enough time to get to grips with everything the hotel had to offer.
We followed a series of walkways shaded with bamboo before opting for the pool in the middle section. The Bali beds made our decision. There were eight in total with four on either side of the cross shaped pool. The dark grey padded daybeds were elevated on thick wooden bases. A broad tree trunk table sat to the left of each one with a large square canvas umbrella shading from the right. The backdrop of bamboo palms, sea grape plants, thatch palms, as well as numerous other native greeneries created a jungle experience.
“This is beautiful,” I said.
“I know.” Sarah launched herself onto the second bed.
“Is it bad if we take two?” I asked.
“I’m not playing three in a bed with you two; it’s way too hot for that!” Billie chirped.
“Take your pick, Harps. You can share a daybed with either one of these fine specimens right here.” She wiggled her eyebrows, gesturing back and forth between her and Sarah. She sprawled out across the cushionedhaven, her white cover up revealing everything from the waist down.
“You should tip the girl who does your bikini wax. She’s done good.” I smirked. Billie almost broke her ribs to get a better look at her own bikini line.
“She has actually. I’m impressed. I’m dolphin smooth now,” Billie said with a straight face.
Sarah chuckled. “I’m just glad you started shaving your moustache.”
“Hey! We don’t talk about Dastardly.” Billie rubbed at her top lip. Dastardly Whiplash was the famous villain Billie named her nonexistent “moustache” after.
“You’re so dramatic.”
It really wasn’t that bad. So, she had a bit of lip hair, like most women did. The little blonde hairs became slightly more prominent when she had a tan, hence the full pre-holiday waxing routine.
I dropped my natural-coloured straw beach bag down on the bed next to Sarah. It was the most practical fifteen pounds I’d ever spent. It saw me through at least six holidays: being washed out to sea, several burst bottles of sun cream, and enough cocktail spillages that if I squeezed it, she’d probably still have the remnants of a piña colada from the last holiday. I did wash her, occasionally.
“Oh, it’s like that is it?” Billie eyed my bed of choice; she stretched her whole body in a star shape position. “More room for me.”
Sarah was less invasive than Billie. The last thing I needed in thirty-five-degree heat was Billie clambering on top of me to reach the sun cream on the table. A simple,Can you pass me the sun cream? was an unreasonable request. I’d been on enough holidays with Billie to know her sunbathing habits.
There was a dark wooden shelving unit at the entrance to the pool area. It was full to the brim with rolled up beige towels. The towels were professionally folded like someone had spent three hours preparing them for a photoshoot for the Victorian Plumbing website.
It was a simple thing, providing towels, most hotels did, but I’d never been to a hotel where you launch them into a large wicker laundry basket at the end of the day and collect a new one the next morning. There was no lugging them back and forth to the hotel room. There was no worry I might lose a towel and therefore lose the deposit I’d paid to get the towels in the first place. I’m not sure the hotel would be classed as a green hotel, per se. There were no signs asking me to reuse the towels for the sake of the planet and no threatening appeal to cut pressure on the environment, but they probably saved the planet in other ways. It was only day one; I had a lot to learn.
“I know I’ve said it fifty times already, but this place is unreal,” I gushed.
