The Wedding Veil(21)

The phone in my room was blinking red with a message when I got there, but I didn’t think much of it. Who would possibly be leaving me a message here? Then again, it wasn’t like I had cell reception. It could be my mother or Babs. I almost let it go so I could get to paddleboard yoga a little early like I was planning. But something in that urgent blinking light wouldn’t let me off the hook. What if it was Hayes? Would I call him back?

Deciding I could cross that bridge if I came to it, I picked up the phone and hit zero for the resort operator.

“Yes, Ms. Baxter?” Yesterday, the hotel staff had greeted me as “Mrs. Mitchell”—something that, later, made me dissolve into a sobbing puddle, certain I’d made a mistake, horrified at what everyone might be saying about me back home. I hadn’t been able to get myself together the entire night. But today, somehow, I was too relaxed to worry about it.

“Do I have a message?” I asked.

The receptionist read: “I’m holding a private reception aboard Sea Suite tomorrow morning for architecture enthusiasts before the boat leaves for Anegada and our brief time as fake husband and wife ends. Please RSVP. Yours, Conner.”

I laughed. “Would you like me to place the call for you?” she asked.

I hesitated. I almost said no. But even though I wasn’t going to go, I had to at least respond, didn’t I? I mean, sure, I was a world away and owed nothing to a perfect stranger. But then again…

“Yes,” I said. “Put me through.”

I heard her click off as the phone began to ring. I almost hoped Conner wouldn’t answer. Then I would have legitimately done my due diligence, but I wouldn’t actually have to talk to him. I could let him down easy via voice mail.

“Hello?” a deep voice on the other end of the line said.

“Conner?”

I could hear him smile. “So you got my message.”

“I did but…” I bit my lip. I was going to tell him I couldn’t go sailing with him this soon after I had broken up with my fiancé, that I had a bit of soul-searching to do. But what if he didn’t mean it like that? What if he was only trying to be friendly? And then I would have made a fool of myself in front of one of my idols.

“So, what do you say?” he asked. “Sailboat, wine, cheese, me?”

I laughed. Okay. So he probably meant it like that. “Conner, at the risk of embarrassing myself and misreading your intentions, I just broke up with my fiancé two days ago.”

“Mmhmm. I hear that. I totally do. But we’re in the British Virgin Islands. You can’t sit in your room the whole time. Let me show you around.”

I looked out the window, past the bamboo porch, at the endless blue sea dotted with islands. Yeah, who would want to sit here for days on end? “So this isn’t a date?”

He laughed. “Oh, no. It’s definitely a date. For sure.”

“Conner!” I scolded.

“Fine, fine. We’ll talk about your weird obsession with architects, and I’ll pretend I’m simply attempting to be friendly, not trying to embark upon a steamy vacation fling that we’ll both think of wistfully for the rest of our lives.”

The laugh in my throat escaped. That did sound kind of nice. Who wouldn’t want to have a vacation fling? I’d just left Hayes at the altar, sure. But I wasn’t his grieving widow.

At any rate, I heard myself saying, “Well, when you put it that way, who could possibly say no?”

“That’s what I was hoping!” he exclaimed cheerily. “My dinghy will be at the dock to pick you up at ten tomorrow morning.”

It was only when we hung up that I wondered who in her right mind would entertain passing up a sailing adventure in the BVIs with one of America’s biggest up-and-coming architects. But then I remembered that the majority of Americans probably weren’t all that interested in architects. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and grabbed my phone. Then I realized that no one could text me on it anyway and, reluctantly, I put it back. I hadn’t thought of myself as a person who was attached to her phone, but it was occurring to me on this trip that maybe I was. Walking down the steps without it felt oddly vulnerable.

But the closer I got to the paddleboard dock, the freer I felt.

Yesterday’s class had been taught by a strong and stable woman. I looked like Bambi learning to walk. Today, a chiseled man with shoulder-length white-blond hair, no shirt, and a killer island tan wearing red swim trunks handed me my paddleboard. I looked around. I didn’t see any other students, and yesterday’s teacher was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Dana?”

He shrugged. “How should I know?”

I laughed, his flippancy catching me off guard. “Well, isn’t she teaching?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She’s gone. I’m teaching today.” He looked around, checked his watch, and grinned. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Oh, gosh,” I said. “Well, then, that’s okay. We don’t have to do it.” One-on-ones were always so awkward.

He didn’t respond but instead grabbed my board and put it in the water for me, helping me stay steady as I climbed aboard. “We need to paddle out far enough so that if you fall, it won’t be tragic. I’m Trav, by the way,” he said as our paddles sliced through the water, which was so clear and still I almost hated to disturb it.