As I unpack my suitcase, I discover a white envelope tucked under a cover-up. The blue stamp at the top left corner reads Atlas Luxury Resort and Spa; my name is scrawled in the middle. I turn the envelope over in my hand. Written on the back is a quote, one I already recognize from his favorite book. The one that says that everything that happens once can’t ever happen again, but if it happens twice, it’ll happen a third time. My heart stutters. We met last year. That’s one. Then we were thrown together a second time. And last night? That was our third. Or am I stretching to make truths out
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