I pile into the tour’s shuttle bus with the rest of the group and flop onto a seat near the front. We are a tired, happy gang. People compare notes on the fish they spotted, chattering until Caleb picks up the microphone.
His grin is contagious as he meets the eye of each guest. “Hope you all enjoyed the snorkeling. I know it was new to some of you, so thank you for being . . . ocean-minded.”
Lots of groans at that, as there should be. Then a man from the back pipes up, “Well, they do say happiness comes in . . . waves.”
More groans, and then I top it off with “All you need is vitamin . . . sea.”
I get boos and hisses too, so I count that as a win. Especially when Caleb looks at me and smiles warmly before he gazes out at the group again. “And that concludes our afternoon trio of ocean-centric puns. Thank you very much. We’ll be here all week.”
We will. And as Caleb shoots me one last smile before he turns his focus to the road, I couldn’t be happier about that.
6
Caleb
I park in front of the Marriott, the first drop-off, hopping out to stand at the bottom of the steps as most of the guests shuffle off. “See you all tomorrow. I’m expecting you all to be prepared for zip-lining.”
A man on his way out says, “I’ve done a lot of zip-lining, but I’ve never had to prepare for it. How should we do that? Practice hanging in trees on the beach?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “That’s one of my top three tips for zip-lining.”
The man laughs and says, “See you tomorrow.”
I jump back on, close the door and slide behind the wheel. There’s still one guest left—Skyler’s hotel is the farthest out, so she’s the last stop.
She moves up to the first seat as I put the bus in gear, and we drive in comfortable silence as if we’re both enjoying the quiet after all the excitement of the day. After a few minutes, she says, “Seems like everyone had a good time.”
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “And did you have a good time?”
“Absolutely,” she says, heartfelt. “Except that now I want to know—what are your top three tips for zip-lining, Mr. Tour Guide?”
“Easy.” I count them off by lifting my fingers from the wheel. “Know how to use the brake, don’t put anything in your pockets you wouldn’t want to lose, and ask yourself if you truly want to livestream your ride . . . or if you’d rather, I dunno, enjoy it in real time.”
“So much to contemplate on the ride to my hotel.”
“Don’t get too deep. I’ll have you back in ten minutes.”
“Super.” There’s a private-joke spark in her mood. “If I return before six, I can order the DoorDash special.”
“Oh no. Let me guess—you met the cabbie who moonlights as a delivery driver?” I ask, cringing.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“He’s infamous around here. He’s pretty harmless, but he does like to put himself out there.” I shake my head. “What’d he offer you? The island special? An eggplant with a serving of sausage?”
Her laugh lights me up. “He apparently can get me the most amazing fish and”—she lowers her voice, all faux sexy—“a little something on the side.”
This time, I laugh. “I am not allowing you to risk a rendezvous with the infamous DoorDash cabbie. We’re taking the scenic route.” I pretend to slow for a turn. “Ah, look at the side road. Time for a detour up the hill. The views are great.”
Skyler laughs. “Stay on course, Mr. Tour Guide. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m actually on a man-batical.”
This woman just keeps getting more intriguing. “I presume a man-batical is exactly what it sounds like?”
“You got it. It’s like fasting, but with dates.”
That sounds terrible, but then I remember Mia. “Huh. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.”
“Oh? You could benefit from getting off the wagon, romantically-speaking?”
“I think I defaulted into a dating detox.”
“How come?” she asks, and it’s all too easy to answer her—all too easy to tell her things about myself.
“My last girlfriend wanted too much, too soon. See, I have this theory that a relationship should follow a certain pattern. You should date. You should take your time. You should see how things develop.” I catch Skyler smirking at me like I’ve said something funny. “What?”
“You’re a rules guy,” she says, definitely amused.
“What? Me?” It’s only been one day. How does she know this?
She sits back, folding her arms, all smug and adorable. “I’m calling it. You’re totally a rules guy. Reading people is part of my job.”
“And what job is that?” I ask, curious. “Are you a matchmaker? A librarian?”
“No, although I do like the idea of combining the two and setting people up on blind book dates,” she says. “I’m a personal stylist. I read people, size them up, and figure out what’ll look good on them.”