“No,” he belts in reply without so much as a glance my way, the hospitality portion of his demeanor long gone.
“Fine,” I slouch into my stool and close my eyes, listening to the sounds around me—the fountain gurgling in the nearby pool, and just beyond, the faint but distinct lapping of ocean waves which lulls me into a happier place.
“I, Elliot Easton Crowne…Take you, Natalie Renee Butler…To be my lawfully wedded wife…” he declares reverently, a glimmer of love resting on his lash line as he takes the ring from Joel and turns back to me. His warmth engulfs me wholly as he pushes the promise onto my finger.
“Love is patient,” I recite. “Love is kind.”
“Love is not boastful,” he murmurs, “nor does it insist on its own way.”
“Love is not self-seeking,” I say, voice shaking with the love I feel as I push the band on his finger.
“Or easily angered,” he squeezes my fingers, and I feel the implication of it—a second promise.
“Love keeps no records of wrongdoings,” I recite back when prompted. Just as we’re pronounced, he whispers my name in awe.
“Natalie…”
“Ha!” I exclaim at the faint sound of my name, an echo of the most defining moment of my life by the velvet voice that continually haunts me. Jerry glances over at me, brows lifting to his hairline to let me know I’m still cut off. Feeling the impact of that whisper, I briefly wonder how I managed such a clear audible memory and giggle maniacally as I squint at my empty margarita schooner. It’s apparent I need to steer clear of tequila…and maybe Jerry until the end of my Mexication.
When I feel the prickling sensation of a presence behind me, I begin to rattle on my barstool and realize both sets of Jerry’s eyes are still on me as the silky voice repeats my name.
“Humor me, okay, Jerry?” I straighten on my stool as much as possible as the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise at an alarming rate. “Just for shits and giggles. Is it the tequila, or is there someone behind me? Say…yea tall,” I position my hand well above my head, “resembling a criminally good-looking, but very broody rock star?”
“It’s Jerod,” he says, “and yes.”
“Yes, it’s the tequila?”
“Yes, there’s a rock star behind you.”
Turning sideways on my stool, I’m met with widening hazel eyes and get lost in them as easily as I did when I first became acquainted with them so many moons ago. Easton Crowne gapes back at me, sporting a deep tan, wearing board shorts and a form-fitting V-neck. Wayfarers rest on top of his thick, black hair, which now hangs a few inches from his shoulders. He’s grown even more into his impressive physique than the last time I saw him. Looking impossibly fit, he stands before me every bit the rock god he’s become.
In my tequila haze, I reach out and poke his chest as he gawks back at me, seemingly just as confused as I am before I finally speak up.
“Easton,” I croak out, vision blurring as elation slams into me. “You’re in…M-Mex…you’re really here?” I reach out to cup his jaw, and his eyes close at the contact before he utters a low curse.
“Jesus, Natalie. You’re fucking wasted.”
“Meixcation,” I start to tequila-splain. “Dad sent me here for the paper.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” He snaps, shaking his head while simultaneously freeing himself of my touch.
“No. I mean, yes. He gave me the paper and sent me here to celebrate! Been here a few, t-two days… Doyouwanna m-margarita?” I stumble over my words. “Jerry makes them so good you can conjure a daydream into reality poolside.”
“Jerod,” Jerry corrects behind me.
“You overserved a little, didn’t you, man?” Easton scolds Jerry as I greedily take him in, hands moving on their own accord, palming his chest.
“She was cut off an hour ago,” Jerry explains, “I’ve been trying to get her to eat or call someone. I even offered to have a bellman escort her to her room, but she says it’s haunted by Prince Phillip.”
“The fuck?” Easton frowns. “Natalie, what—”
“Damon will come,” I tell the apparition I’m pawing.
Easton’s eyes lower as he edges further away to skirt my touch.
“So, you’re here with Damon?”
“Yes. God, yes. It’s wonderful. He’s so in love,” I explain. “Both of them, Holly too.”
Easton tilts his head, eyes assessing. “Let’s get you to your room.”
“Are you…you come…for…to see me?”
He pauses at my question before shaking his head. “My girlfriend is checking us in while I scope out the place.” He scratches the back of his neck, raking his lower lip before speaking. “Do you want to meet her?”
A sobering lightning bolt shoots straight into my chest, frying my hopeful insides as I realize just how fucking drunk and delusional I currently am. This is no apparition standing in front of me. It’s my ex-husband, who is here with another woman. A woman who knows what it feels like to take his offered hand, who gets to soak in his warmth, who might even be lucky enough to gain the rare looks in his eyes I once thought solely belonged to me.
Another woman who gets to know him intimately, in the way I was just with him mere minutes ago while wrapped in my blissful memory. Lightning threatens again, hovering, lingering—as does Easton’s question.
“Do I want to—,” I manage to stand on shaky legs and end up chest to chest with Easton. His nostrils flare as I try not to inhale and fail. He takes a step back as I grip the bar blindly behind me to correct my balance before jutting my chin. “Do I want to meet your girlfriend?” I force myself to choke out. “No, thank you, Easton. Honestly, I’d rather go for a slow dive to the bottom of the fucking sea.”
Confident I got my message across, I march straight through the patio bar and down the walkway toward the ocean, dead set on seeing my declaration through.
Crazy Love
Poco
Easton
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I grit through clenched teeth, watching Natalie wobble along the long dock that edges the patio leading to the beach.
The bartender speaks up. “I take it this was not a good coincidence?”
Reeling, I pull some cash from my pocket and tap the bar. “No, Jerod, it’s not. Line them up, top-shelf, please.” He immediately starts pouring, and I slam two shots back in rapid succession. Tossing another bill onto the bar, I keep my eyes glued to Natalie, who continues her drunken trek toward the water. I damn near ran headfirst into a fucking tropical plant when I saw her profile. The same reaction I’ve had the half dozen or so other times when I’ve searched for her in a crowd and found a likeness to her. But her doppelganger always pales in comparison the closer I get.
This time, no such luck.
No. This time, when I have the strength, an inkling I can grow differently, and finally have some of the needed mindset that life might have a better trajectory than me bleeding out on the stage—this is when she appears out of thin air.
“Jerod…humor me,” I toss more liquid fire down my throat, monitoring Natalie’s slow, drunken progress.
“I’m listening.”
“What are the odds of taking your new girlfriend on a short getaway to Mexico and running into your ex-wife, who’s vacationing at the same resort?”
Jerod barks out a sympathetic laugh and pours another shot. “So slim those odds probably don’t exist. Damn, man,” he mutters, pushing the brimming glass forward. “This one is on me.”
“Appreciate it, but help me think this through,” I toss another bill on the bar as Natalie stalls in the middle of the sand, halfway to the beach. “Mexico is a popular vacation spot.”
“Agreed,” he says quickly.
“This resort is one of the highest-rated.”
“True, probably first to pop up in the search engine.”
“That’s how I found it,” I fire back, clinging to that lifeline.
“Narrows it down a lot,” Jerod agrees.
“So, we’re getting warmer?” I ask.
He doesn’t at all look convinced as he pours one more shot. “Possibly.”
Chuckling dryly, I lift my brimming glass. “To the inherited luck of my mother.”