Once Upon an Island

No one does.

I stumble across the sand toward the food spread. It’s never a good idea to wear high heels on the beach, you think I would’ve learned that after living here for years. But no.

I grab a plate and pick up a pair of silver tongs. There’s a two-foot-tall pyramid of chocolate truffle balls sitting in a bowl of ice. I think about how many I should take.

Three? Five? Twelve?

I start loading some on my plate. Then I notice there are two men standing nearby.

They’re handsome in that upright, British sort of way. The taller one has black hair, green eyes and wide shoulders. He looks like he could’ve been a boxer. He’s magnetically attractive.

The shorter one is blond, with blue eyes and a slender frame. He sort of reminds me of a golden retriever, happy and friendly and approachable. They’re both dressed in tropical shirts à laCocktail.

“There’s no need to leave. We’re here to have a bit of fun. Mix with the locals,” the golden retriever one says. His accent is posh British, similar to Kate’s.

“I’d rather not,” the boxer says stiffly. His tone is at complete odds with the ridiculous outfit he’s wearing.

The golden retriever slaps him on the back. “Mixing is the best way to forget Vicky. There are plenty of good-looking women here to talk to.”

The boxer looks around the tent aloofly. “You’re right, there are plenty of women here, but I don’t see any good-looking ones. At least, not good enough for me.”

Wow. I take the magnetically attractive designation back. I’d rather date one of Arya’s toenail clipping exes than this man.

The golden retriever laughs. “Loosen up. Look, right there at the dessert table. That woman there. She’s good-looking.”

My ears go hot and prickly when I realize he’s talking about me.

I keep dishing truffle balls onto my plate and glance at the men from the corner of my eyes.

The boxer scoffs. “I’ll pass. She’s average at best. And then there’s her face.”

I stiffen. What’s wrong with my face?

I have a nice face, thank you very much. It shows the whole mixed bag of my ancestors, perfect for the daughter of an anthropologist. My mom always said I have the kind of face that could visit nearly any country in the world and people would assume I was a local.

The golden retriever laughs again and shoves his friend toward me. He trips over his feet and stumbles to a stop in front of me. I look up, clear my throat and smile tightly at him.

Pretend you didn’t hear him, I tell myself.

“Err, hello,” he says. He straightens up and adjust his flowered shirt.

“Hi,” I say.

He looks around the tent awkwardly and then back to me. “Nice day.”

I nod, then hold the tongs out to him. “Did you want some truffle balls?”

He glances at the tongs in my hand and then back up to me. He’s taller than I thought. Even in my heels, he still has a few inches on me. But he’s also stiffer than I thought. I have no idea how a man in a tropical shirt and shorts can look pompous, but he’s managing just fine. He gives the silver tongs a supercilious look.

“The truffle balls look good, don’t they?” I ask.

Why am I still talking to this man? Why?

His mouth turns down and he looks like he wishes he were anywhere but here, in this tent next to the turquoise sea, talking to me.

“I don’t ever eat balls, but…”

He sniffs, and it sounds like a restrained scoff. “I’ll bet,” he says.

Oh jeez. Did I just tell this man I never eat balls?

My eyes widen. Out of the corner of my eye I see the man’s friend gesturing that he should ask me to dance. The boxer sees him too, he glares at him and sharply jerks his head no.

The friend walks over and pulls him to the side.

“Ask her to dance,” he cajoles.

“No,” the boxer replies.

“Ask her.”

“I will not. I won’t dance with some sad single woman, who self-pityingly overstuffs herself with chocolates on Valentine’s Day and wears inappropriate outfits to beach brunches. I will not.”

I drop the tongs to the table. They hit the edge of the ice bowl with a loud clatter. The man and his friend glance up. The dark-haired boxer looks irritated, the golden retriever looks embarrassed.

I smile at them and as serenely as possible I walk back to my table. I don’t look back.

When I sit down my friends stare.

“What?” I ask.

They all lean forward.

Kate whispers, “That was Declan Fox. You were talking to Declan Fox.” She holds up her cell phone so I can see a picture of him from the internet. “You’ve done it. You’ve already landed the white whale.”

Arya looks at me with awe.

I can’t help it, I snort and then I start to laugh.

“What?” Kate asks.

“Why are you laughing?” Arya asks.

“I would rather date a toad,” I say. “I’m out. I’m definitely out.”

Declan Fox is not the man for me.

“What’d he say?” asks Renee.

“Hmm. Let me think…” I put on his disdainful, deep voice, “I would never dance with some sad, single woman, who self-pityingly overindulges on chocolates…”

Arya gasps. “Fatal flaw. He’s an a-hole.”

I continue in an imitation of his voice, “She’s average looking at best. And then there’s her face.”

“He did not,” Renee hisses.

“He did.” I smile at them, and even though his comment stung a little, I cross my eyes, stick out my tongue and say, “Look at my face! Look at me, I’m hideous!”

My friends shriek with laughter. Some of the Tom Cruise devotees at the brunch stop and stare, but most just keep on dancing or drinking.

Finally, Arya wipes her eyes. She was laughing so hard she started to cry. “Isla, we really should’ve told you…” She blushes and looks down.

“What?”