Page 35 of Harper's Holiday Romance
Okay, so I’d already thought of several cute pet turtle names. I liked Squirtle best. I had attachment issues. I was quite frankly emotionally unstable when it came to animals of any kind, and I probably needed therapy, but nobody’s perfect. I cried a week ago because I saw a bird on its own, and I wondered if it was lonely. As I researched bird cages on the internet and considered giving it a loving home, its friend arrived and they proceeded to fight or have sex, I couldn’t work out which. I spent the next three hours worrying about all the birds who didn’t have a friend, and before I knew it, I was donating fifty pounds to a birdlife organisation to support rapid response teams attending vulture poisonings. I couldn’t tell anyone what that meant, but I felt better.
I put my headphones in; maybe the soothing sound of Tori Kelly’s voice would help me forget all about JuliafreakingHanlow.
The cultural concierge, Miguel, briefly introduced us to the world of sea turtles. He worked with our hotel anda local preservation group to educate visitors and protect the turtles.
What a cool job.
“A single sea turtle nest can contain as many as one hundred eggs, but only one in one thousand sea turtles survive to adulthood,” he said sadly.
The thought hurt my heart. He went on to explain how the wonderful little creatures were threatened by predatory animals, such as birds, racoons, and humans. There was a gasp and whispering disgust from those aboard. I can’t say I was surprised. Humans were the root cause for all that was wrong with the world. We did some amazing stuff too, but I was okay admitting what many others would not. In the main, we sucked.
Growing up I desperately wanted to work with animals. I volunteered at dog shelters until I got too attached. I was devastated when nobody wanted to adopt a dog. I used to volunteer at the local farm feeding and mucking out animal enclosures, until one day I asked for Petal the pig, and the farmer explained she’d gone to the supermarket, which I thought was an odd thing for a pig to do—then it clicked. I thought about being a veterinary doctor, but the thought of not being able to save all the animals caused me so much anxiety I didn’t sleep for a week. My last resort was a pipe dream, but I promised myself if I won the lottery I would build an animal sanctuary, and every pet would be welcome, even stinky skunks.
Miguel addressed the group, “I’m going to split you into pairs; each pair will receive a small box of hatchlings.” I assumed he meant baby turtles. Miguel continued, “Inside the box there will be 7–10 hatchlings, and it will be your job to help them get to sea safely.”
Gulp. I felt a lot of pressure.
Every single damn person on the minibus was in a pair, as expected, because nobody in their right mind goes on an excursion in Mexico on their own. I already knew what was coming.
“Are you two okay to pair up?” Miguel asked as we left the bus.
“Sure.” I fake smiled.
“I guess.” Julia scowled.
We followed Miguel down to the beach. Once we arrived, he handed us our boxes. Julia gestured for me to take the lead, which from what I’d gathered was uncharacteristically nice of her. The small brown box resembled the takeaway cake boxes that housed the world’s best lemon meringue back home. I could hear tiny claws scraping against the inside of the cardboard.
“Take a look inside,” Miguel encouraged.
“Maybe you should hold it?” I moved the box towards Julia. “I’m scared I’ll drop them on the floor.” My history with dropping things was as lengthy as the textbooks I had to read in high school about World War One.
“You’ve got this,” Julia said. She didn’t know me well enough to assume I’d got anything, but she sounded genuine, which threw me.
I held the box as steady as I could. I peeled back the corner just enough to peek inside.
“Ahh, look at them.” I turned the box to Julia, and she leant forwards, our shoulders pressing against each other. The heat of her body felt unexpected, but I didn’t allow that to be the focus of my attention.
“I think I’m in love,” I proclaimed.
“Easy now, we’ve only known each other a few days,” she joked.
“Funny.”
What was this?
A drop in the armour?
Could it be possible underneath her tough exterior she had a sense of humour?
The turtles obviously softened her. The wrinkles in her forehead relaxed. The smile on her face became less forced. It was a natural, teeth-baring smile, and it suited her.
“These guys are thirteen hours old,” Miguel informed us. I peered inside the box again; the babies were no more than five inches in length. Julia poked her finger in the box to stroke them. The whole paternal feel of the situation felt too intimate to be sharing with someone who clearly disliked my very presence.
We made our way down to the beach, once we neared the water’s edge Miguel traced line after line in the sand, pointing for each couple to step up. We were first.
“When you’re ready, gently release the hatchlings in front of the line, and watch them make their way to their new home.”
That morning I couldn’t have cared less if I never saw Julia Hanlow ever again, fast forward an hour, and we had joint custody of seven small creatures. We both crouched in the sand. I placed the box on its side and the baby turtles clambered out onto the beach.
