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“OK, I’d like to do the spa,” I tell the man.
A few minutes later, I’m being massaged by countless hands, glorious-smelling fruity oils, hot stones, serenaded by relaxing violins, with different masks and wraps and scrubs applied to my every part. “The full package,” was all the long-eyelashed woman said as soon as she heard my name. Another one of Greyson’s pre-booked things, apparently. Calling this a ‘spa’ doesn’t do it justice. It’s nothing short of paradise.
By the time I totter out of there, I feel so relaxed and scrubbed and balmed and oiled that I wouldn’t be surprised if I oozed into the marble floor of the hallway.
I still want to check out the bike tours.
There’s no sign of Greyson, and when I stop in my room to change and grab a small camera, there’s no message from him either. So, off on the bike tour I go.
Trees, sloths, the fresh air, glimpses of the volcano—the bike tour is wonderful. So wonderful that I end up staying longer and later to chat with a handsome Costa Rican I’ve met—Antonio.
By the time we get back, it’s late and dark.
“Dinner plans?” he asks, nodding towards the restaurant.
“I…” It feels like a mean thing, ditching Greyson to go have dinner with Antonio. Especially when he’s paying for my stay here. Then again, Greyson never out and said that he wanted to have dinner together. Is it really ditching someone if you don’t have plans with him in the first place?
“I think I’ll have room service again,” I tell Antonio.
I should probably check to see if Greyson left a note for me. I have been gone a while, and he might worry. It’s the considerate thing to do, with him paying for all this, at the very least.
“Oh no.” His forehead creases with disappointment, his eyes shining. “But you will come for the dancing tonight?”
I find myself smiling. “There’s dancing?”
“Of course! Starts at 10 PM in the lounge. It’s great fun, lots of people come out.”
That definitely sounds like my kind of fun. “Alright. I’ll be there. Maybe I can even get my friend to come out too.”
Antonio kisses my hand. “Till tonight, then, señorita.”
“Till tonight,” I say, grinning and waving.
Today has been one awesome surprise after another. Except for Greyson being MIA, of course. Then again, maybe he left a note or message in my room.
Once I get to my room, though, there’s still nothing from him. I scowl at my reflection.
I should’ve gone to the restaurant with Antonio after all. Did Greyson really have that many calls to make? A whole day’s worth?
I sit down and call Greyson up.
He picks up immediately. “Harley. You OK?”
“Yeah, I… thought maybe you’d be too busy to pick up. You know, with your calls and everything.”
Maybe my tone is snarky and I’m being ungrateful, but I don’t care. If Greyson wants to avoid me, he should just come out and say it. Tell me that it’s over between us.
“If you need anything,” he says now, “just tell me.”
“Would seeing you be too much to ask? I’m starting to wonder if you’re even at the same hotel, or if you just had them reroute this to your cell.”
“No, I…” He sighs. “I would never leave you there on your own.”
“Still didn’t answer my first question.”
A long pause. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“We can’t even have dinner in the restaurant with everyone else, like civilized people?”
“Oh. Yes. We can.” Still that guarded tone that makes me scowl. “If you want, we can—”
I hang up, glaring at the phone for a few seconds after. We ‘can’. If ‘I want’.
What happened to the man who took what he wanted when he wanted, damn the consequences? What happened to the guy who just went with things?
“Maybe he was never there at all,” I murmur to myself.
My reflection is still rosy after the bike ride, although my eyes are unmistakably disappointed.
“At least there’s tonight to look forward to,” I tell her.Chapter 17Greyson
I stare at the door numbly.
What the hell am I doing?
Avoiding Harley like this—what is it supposed to accomplish?
I get up, start to pace.
It’s obvious: it’ll stop me from getting carried away again. It’ll set up some clear boundaries again. Prevent me from messing up again.
I glare at the glimpse of my reflection on the wardrobe door.
Still, what’s the point? What was done, was done. Avoiding her now doesn’t change what already happened.
Do I really want to, anyway?
I have my meal in my room, chowing down the tropical stew without hardly tasting it, wondering what she ordered. I try calling up my brothers, but none of them answer. I flick on the TV, mindlessly scrolling through channels. I shoot out some work emails, follow-up with the video editor who received our footage yesterday. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I go to Harley’s room.
