How to Honeymoon Alone

by Olivia Hayle

I cock my head. “Why don’t you eat at the breakfast bar? I never see you there.” He turns to face me fully. “You’ve been looking for me?” he asks and sounds inordinately pleased by that fact. “I watch all the guests. They’re fascinating.” “You mean you hate-watch the honeymoon couples?” “Yes,” I say. “Two of them fed each other chopped mango yesterday morning, and I almost committed double homicide with my grapefruit spoon.”

He lowers onto the other edge of the pool, directly across from me. There’s something so composed about him that it’s just shy of intimidating. Like even when he’s relaxed, he’s still guarded, watching his words and his actions.

“So Caleb wasn’t the best in that department, was he?” I can’t look at him. “Wow. That’s not what I was going to say.” “No? Okay, then.” He takes another sip from his bottle, and it’s clear in the silence that he doesn’t believe me. “I mean… yeah, I’m not going to miss the five-minute sessions.” “Five minutes,” Phillip mutters. “Right. So, with the dipshit, you had participation trophy sex?” I blink at him. “Sex doesn’t have winners and losers.” “Oh, Eden, it definitely does,” he says. “I like winning… and I like making sure the woman I’m with wins, too. Several times.” I have to swallow before answering. “Oh.” “And the matches last longer than five minutes.” His tone is the same matter-of-fact one I’m used to. His eyes meet mine with a hint of humor, laugh creases appearing at the corners… but on his knee, his fingers are tapping away. Like he’s not quite as unaffected as he’s letting on.

A turtle breaks through the percolating sand surface. It’s a tiny thing, a perfect miniature replica of the large turtles we’d seen at sea just a few days ago. A new life begins.

Not that Phillip and I are dating or anything, or even close to it. All we’ve done is kissed. Once. It had been a hell of a kiss, too. The kind that reminded me why humans kiss at all, why this odd ritual so unique to our species is a thing. Objectively weird and subjectively amazing.

“That was excellent.” I chuckle, leaning against my club. “Liar.” “For your second-ever attempt, it was pretty damn good.” He climbs back into the golf cart, taking the passenger seat. “Come on, why don’t you try driving the cart, too.” I get in the driver’s seat, unable to stop my grin. “Really?” He pulls his cap further down and leans back, stretching his long legs as much as there’s room. “Nothing like being chauffeured.” I laugh and press down on the accelerator pedal. Golf, it turns out, might not be such a boring sport after all, and in this beautiful location? I might even find myself enjoying it. We make it to hole seven before disaster truly strikes. He’s two points under par, and I’m about fourteen thousand over. But I’m soldiering on, and Phillip doesn’t show any signs of being frustrated by my frequent mishaps. It’s surprising. Somehow, he’d struck me as the kind of person that wouldn’t be described as patient. After all, his pacing while talking on the phone, his constant emailing, his clear passion for his job… His own self-proclaimed desire to win in every facet of life. But here, he doesn’t let out a single disparaging comment.

I push up into seating. I’m still missing a shoe, and the sun is devastating, and I can feel a tiny trickle of sweat down my spine. Phillip is still lying on his back and doesn’t look like he has a care in the world. His hair is mussed now, and there’s a calmness about him that wasn’t there the past week. I smile. “So, why are we out here then?” He turns his head. “Golfing?” “Yes.” “It’s a nice day,” he says, “and you wanted to learn.” “Right, blame it on me. I’ve been making you suffer out here, watching me hit the ball at literal trees.” He smiles again. This time it’s crooked, and true, and it makes my own smile falter. “I’ll tell you one thing, Eden. Golfing with you is definitely not dull.” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. “Is that your way of saying you’re enjoying yourself?” “I’ve never ended up on my back in a sand bunker before,” he says. “So… yes.”

“So,” he says like we’re not having the most outlandish conversation of my life, “was the too much tongue comment a hint?” My cheeks flame. “Oh.” “Yes,” he says, again so matter-of-factly. “If you’ve got constructive criticism, I can take it.” “I’ve never met a man whose ego can handle constructive criticism.” He chuckles. “Then, you’ve met too many insecure men.” “Probably, yes.” I look down at my drink. “At any rate, the comment wasn’t about you. Your, um, amount of tongue was excellent.” Around us, the night tightens its hold. “Excellent?” he asks. “Mh-hmm. No complaints.” “Right. Well, I enjoyed kissing you.” My throat goes dry. “Yeah. Well… I did too.”

“Is that why you listen to all that true crime? You write crime stories?” “Maybe,” I say, drawing out the word. He holds up a branch to let me pass under it. It brings me close to him, and his interested gaze. “Is all of this research?” he asks. “Depends,” I say. “Do you want to get murdered and give me a story?” His eyes widen, and then he smiles. It lights up his tanned face. “By you? Any day.” I laugh to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. Stupid conversation. Stupid man. “Watch out, then.”

He kisses my lips gently before tracing the edge of my jaw. “I didn't expect this, Eden. I didn't expect you.” A shiver runs through me again, and it's not because I'm cold. Pressed against him, our clothes soaked and bodies molded to one another, I've never felt warmer. “Me either,” I say. “You were a complete surprise.” He rests his forehead against mine. We're both breathing hard. And there's no one here watching, no one we're performing for. “What are we doing?” I whisper. “I have no idea,” he says. “I don't know what I've been doing this entire trip.” “Vacation self,” I murmur. He runs his fingers over my wet hair before coming to rest on the bare skin of my neck. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “Or maybe it's just me, and it’s just you.”

I look up at the stars while I wait. This trip has been more challenging than I expected it to be, and in none of the ways I’d anticipated. I’ve felt different here, yet also more myself than I’ve ever felt before. Maybe that’s what happens on a vacation. You leave all your stuff behind, all the baggage, and for a short period of time, you can forge an entirely new identity. Keeping only the best parts of yourself and adding new facets, like trying on a costume for size.

“Right. My turn.” I roll my tumbler slowly between my palms; the glass is cool from the ice. “Well, you know me,” he says. “I’m an open book.” I laugh, and satisfaction flashes in his eyes. He likes making me laugh. The knowledge settles like a hot stone in my stomach.

The phone between us starts to ring. Phillip stares at it without making a move to answer. His hair is usually brushed back, but it’s messy now, dark and ruffled in the ocean breeze. “You’re ignoring it?” “Thinking about ignoring it, at least,” he says. “I already know it’s an attorney at my firm. He’s an idiot.” “Doesn’t he know you’re on vacation?” “Oh, he sure does.” I reach for the phone, pausing with my hand over it. “Can I?” Dark-blue eyes meet mine, and there’s that dimple again, flashing briefly as he smiles. “Go right ahead. His name is Briggs.” “You won’t regret it,” I say and answer the call. “This is Phillip Meyer’s phone,” I say in my brightest, most teacher-y voice. “Who’s this?” a frazzled male voice asks on the other end. “Is he around?” “My name is Eden, and yes, he is,” I say sweetly. “Well, can you put him on?” I look across at Phillip. He’s resting his head on his hand and watching me, amusement shining in his blue eyes. “No, I can’t,” I say. “He’s on vacation.” The man on the line sighs. “Yeah, I know, but he’s needed. Put him on.” “You’re Briggs. Right?” There’s a pause. “Yes.” “Well, Mr. Meyer is a hardworking member of the team and is, at present time, enjoying two weeks of his earned vacation. All we ask is that these days are respected. And Briggs? He’s spoken highly of you and your work ethic. I have every confidence that you’re fully equipped to handle whatever crisis has just occurred. You have the voice of a competent man.” Phillip is grinning...

“Don’t let some stuffy editor who didn’t know how to sell your first book be the arbiter of whether or not you’ve got talent.” He leans back in the chair, head tilted up. His stubble has thickened into the beginnings of a decent beard. It makes him look older, somehow, and gruffer. But more relaxed, too. “If you decide a career as an author isn’t for you, that’s fine. But let it be because you decide it. Not someone else.”

“Yeah. I haven’t always been the best partner, Eden.” He runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his sunglasses. With them on, I can’t see his eyes. I can only read his expression from the movement of his jaw. “None of my exes were okay with my work days occasionally running to midnight.” “But that goes in phases, right? Like when you’re deep into a mergers and acquisitions negotiation. It doesn’t happen on a normal Tuesday, right?” He turns to me. “You remembered what I work with?” “Yes,” I say. I had googled m&a the other night while in bed. Read up on the firm he worked for, too. I’d even googled his name. Phillip Meyer. But I hadn’t found much. Seems like social media isn’t his thing. “It sounds interesting.” “You mean that?” he asks. “Yeah, I do. Even if you never go to court.” “Rarely,” he agrees. “I mean, I definitely have.” “I bet you were the hottest lawyer that day.” He chuckles, just like I’d hoped, and runs a hand through his hair again. It seems like he does that a lot when he’s flustered or taken by surprise. “I couldn’t say.” “Don’t be modest,” I coo. I lean back in my lounge chair and open up my book again, still smiling.

“This seems like an awful way to spend an afternoon.” “Does that mean you want to leave?” I ask. “Because we totally can. I mean, I’m down. As long as you know it means we’re losing on walkover to all the other guests, half of whom are probably insufferable honeymooners.” “I hate you,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he means it at all. “Thanks, sweetie pie.” He frowns. “No.” “My lucky charm?” “Absolutely not.” “My honey nut,” I say, and then grimace. “No.” “Yes,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That one for sure. But why the cereal theme?” “Because they’re⁠—” “Welcome everyone!” The hotel employee—and the apparent emcee for this event—calls out. “Ready to get started? We have some awesome activities lined up for you!” What follows might be the most chaotic half an hour of my life. I go head-to-head with eight other women in the noble sport of racing with an egg on a spoon being held in my mouth. And I watch Phillip struggle to shoot darts at the water-filled balloons after spinning around a stick. By the time we’re grabbing the sacks, he’s forgotten about his promise. We’re doing a relay race. He rushes across the lawn in his burlap sack, neck and neck with the man in a pink polo shirt who seems determined to win in every single game. In my mind, I’ve deemed him Phillip’s nemesis. Phillip returns to the start line and quickly kicks the sack off his legs before holding it out for me to step into it. “Come on, Eden,” he urges. I pull the burlap sack up to my wai...

“A corkscrew. Oh my God, I can’t even…” I shiver again, in discomfort this time. “Poor female ducks.” “Might not be so bad if it’s all you know,” he says. Then, he laughs again. It’s a full laugh, and it fills the car up, warming the air between us. “I can’t fucking believe the conversations I have with you.” “You were the one who brought up the intimate anatomy of a duck,” I say, but I’m grinning, too. “Yeah, and I stand by it because I want to win the game.”

“I worked too much before this trip.” “Mm-hmm. I suspected.” “I really like my job, though. But if I had a relationship that truly matters, that’s right… I don’t think I’d make the same prioritization.”

His eyes dance as they travel over my naked body. “Hey,” he says. I reach out and take a french fry. It’s still crunchy, even if it’s no longer warm. “Hi,” I say. “So… it wasn’t a corkscrew.” He looks at me for a surprised moment before he breaks into laughter. It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.

I find that it doesn’t really matter, though. Actions speak loudest. Because intentions? They whisper.

“You’re the most wonderful thing I never saw coming. I need more of it in my life.”

Phillip kisses me softly, his lips familiar again in an instant. I knot my hands behind his neck and kiss him back. In my chest, my heart feels like it’s pounding out of my ribcage. I’ve dreamed of being in his arms again. With my eyes closed, I can almost hear the ocean waves break against the shoreline, and the distant sound of cicadas. It feels like coming home and going on vacation, the best of both worlds. Excitement floods through me. I get to spend more time with him. After weeks of wondering, and worrying, there is a future to this. I’m not going to have to live on memories alone.

He taps his fingers along the side of my laptop. “I might have some notes about the legal process, later. About the investigation, but also about what laws actually apply to a foreign national murdered abroad.” “Lay it all on me,” I say. “You can be my law consultant on fictional criminal cases.” “Will I make it into the acknowledgments?” “Maybe,” I say. He shakes his head. “Scratch that. I want into the dedication.” I laugh. “You’re getting greedy.” “Yes,” he says and puts the laptop down. He looks at me across the room with unbridled lust. “I thought that was obvious by now.” I chuckle, stretching my bare legs in front of me, and loving the way his eyes dip down. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

His fingers tap a slow rhythm on my hip. “Tess kept pushing me to tell her why I was moving.” “Did she?” “Yeah. She’s like a bloodhound when she can scent a secret.” I scoot closer to him, tilting my hips up. “And did you? Tell her?” Phillip smirks. “Yeah. Eventually.” “Oh.” “She was surprised at first and then not surprised at all. ‘When you least expect it,’ she said, ‘that’s when you find it.’” My breath catches. “Yeah. I have to say, I didn’t expect to meet you on my honeymoon trip.” He chuckles. “Neither did I, baby.” “But I’m glad I did.” “Me, too,” he says softly. His hand brushes over my stomach, but it doesn’t move lower. I tilt my hips up again. “Touch me,” I say. He chuckles. “Bossy, aren’t you?” “I’m getting there,” I say, and it’s the truth. With Phillip, nothing is off-limits. No conversation topic, no joke, and nothing I might want to explore. He’s there for all of it, giving just as well as me. It’s the kind of freedom I’ve never experienced.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters. “It tugs my heart, all the damn time.” And I believe him. Because I feel the same way about him. It doesn’t matter if it’s seeing him wake up in the morning or bantering during long car rides, or even when he’s focused on work emails.

“Wow,” I whisper and look into his warm eyes. The dark-blue is liquid, and a soft smile lurks at the corner of his lips. “I love you.” His hands pause. My words hang in the air between us, a tangible, shimmering thing. One that can be accepted or rejected. His mouth tightens. “You do?” “Yes,” I say. My hair must be a mess, and I’m half-naked, and I feel more like myself than I have in a long, long time. “It’s okay if you’re not there, yet, or if you don’t want to say it. But I want you to know how I feel.” “Really?” he asks. “Yes, so much, I don’t know what to do with it all. It’s taken me by surprise… but I love that, too.” He shifts us, moves so he’s half resting on top of me. His face is close to mine, and his weight is delicious on top of me. “Eden,” he murmurs and kisses me. “Eden, fuck.” “It’s okay,” I say. “It’s fine. This doesn’t change anything.” “It’s not that.” He rests his head against my neck. For a long time, he doesn’t move, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against my breast. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are glazed. “I love you, too. I have for much longer than I realized. It crept up on me, slow at first, and then so fast that I was deep in it before I knew.” “You do?” I murmur. He nods once, and his hand comes up to cup my face. “Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this, or felt this much before.” “Not like this,” I say. “Not like this,” he agrees. “I know how bad it can hurt when things fall apart. And now? Feeling like this? I don’...

“It’s right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer.” Phillip presses another kiss to my temple. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You’re all mine now.” My hand tightens around his arm. “And you’re all mine.”

The terrace overlooks the deep-blue Aegean Sea that stretches as far as the horizon. A few seagulls lazily glide overhead on currents of warm air. Next to the terrace is the hotel pool, surrounded by outdoor chaise lounges with shade umbrellas and tall olive trees in terracotta pots, providing much-needed relief from the scorching sun. “Pinch me,” I whisper. “Right now.” “Absolutely not,” he says. “That would be very un-husbandly.”