She quickly disappears. Don’t blame her. Wish I could disappear too.
Needing something to do, I get my phone from my bag and check the screen.
A message from Jenny is waiting for me.
OMG! It’s gorgeous. Wish I were there with you! Call me once you get settled in. Love you.
I wish she were here too.
Or maybe Chris Hemsworth … or Liam. Both are divine. Also ’90s Jon Bon Jovi. And 2000s Brad Pitt, circa Troy. Actually, I’d take 2021 Brad Pitt, to be honest. Dude is still hot as sin.
Yeah, in your dreams, Dillon. They’d probably only cheat on you anyway.
Jesus, I’m maudlin.
I don’t reply back to Jenny’s text. I’ll just call her later, like she asked.
I slip my phone back into my bag just as the check-in woman reappears.
“Here is your key. Number seventy-eight. If you follow the signs just outside to the senior water villas, yours is at the very end of the jetty. Your luggage is already waiting for you in your room. Dinner is at eight p.m. Your bed will be turned down every night and made every morning while you are at breakfast.”
I take the key from her. Standing, I pick up my bag and hang it on my shoulder. “That’s great. Thank you”—my eyes quickly drop to her name tag. I’m shockingly bad at remembering names. Well, my memory is pretty bad overall—“Najam.”
“You are very welcome. I very much hope you enjoy your stay here. Anything you need, please call reception or come in to see us. And, Miss Dawson, I hope this is okay to say … and does not offend you … but Mr. Prickett is a very stupid man.”
That raises a smile, and not much does nowadays.
“It’s more than okay. Thank you, Najam,” I tell her again with sincerity.
She nods at me and heads back to the reception area while I make my way out of here, past the happy frigging couples who are still checking in.
I step out of the lovely, cool, air-conditioned reception into the stifling heat. Glancing around, I look for the sign that Najam mentioned, which will direct me to my bungalow.
I spot the sign for senior water villas and follow the direction it’s pointing in.
I somehow make it to the jetty leading to the villas without getting lost, which is a miracle for me. Directions are not my strong point.
Much like my ability to pick fiancés.
I step onto the jetty, reveling in the absolute peace. The only sound is the water lapping the legs of the jetty.
I walk along, paying attention to the numbers on the bungalows as I pass them.
Finally, I reach number seventy-eight, which is at the end of the jetty, just as Najam said it would be. I cast a glance at my neighbor, number seventy-nine, and send up a silent prayer that whoever is staying in there aren’t newlyweds.
Who am I kidding? They’ll most definitely be newlyweds, and they’ll have loud sex every night. Because this is me, and my luck pretty much sucks at the moment.
I let myself inside the bungalow. My luggage is waiting just inside the door.
There’s air-conditioning in here too. Heaven.
Shutting the door behind me, I slip my sunglasses off and see just how light and airy this place is. I step in a little farther and see the bathroom off to my left. I wander in and see it opens out onto a private area, and there’s a bath outside.
A frigging outside bath! I don’t remember seeing that in the description when I was booking this place.
I can’t wait to get a bath in there. Relax with a glass of bubbly and a good book. Crime book, of course. Normally, I love a good romance book. But I’m not in the mood to read about fictional people’s happily ever afters.
Murder … now, that I can get on board with.
No romance is allowed in this bungalow.
It’s a romance-free zone.
Leaving the bathroom, I wander into the main room. Plenty of closet space for my clothes. Not that I brought loads.
Mostly bikinis, shorts, and tank tops. Some summer dresses and outfits to wear to my solo dinners.
Nothing fancy.
Although I did bring a pair of heels with me, I can’t see them getting much use. Walking on sand in heels is a definite no-no.
Thankfully, I brought some wedges and nice flip-flops, the kind with a bit of bling on them, in case I have to dress up.
I honestly don’t know what the dinner dress code is here.
I’m imagining it to be quite relaxed.
And I’m seriously overthinking this.
When I reach the bed, my bag slips off my shoulder and thuds to the floor, right along with my stomach.
The bed is all laid out with a sprinkling of rose petals and some towels arranged into the shape of a heart.
At the end of the bed, there’s a small table with a bucket of champagne and two glasses. A fruit basket and a card.