Page 58 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Not in the ocean.”
“Are you afraid of sharks?”
“No—”
“Because you are more likely to die from a vending machine falling on top of you than you are to get killed by a shark.”
“It’s not a fear thing, Lane.”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, and the silence wore heavy. I could see him mentally building a wall. And I didn’t want that. So even though I was, in fact, a beach girl, I found the following words tumbling out of my mouth, “Then we let them go to the alcove. You and I can go to the jungle.”
“No, Emily. It’s okay. I know you had fun today.”
“I did. And now I’m looking forward to doing something different tomorrow. We have beaches back home. Let’s go on that hike.”
Beck let the shot glass he’d been examining clink onto the counter so he could read me for what felt like the millionth time tonight. “Are you sure?”
I saw the two paths the next day as a fork in the road. I could join my new friends at the alcove. Hell, I could even tell Beck what Reagan had said, and she could spend the day with Beck. Leaving me a guilt-free day in the sun. However, I realized I didn’t want Reagan to be alone with Beck in the jungle because I wanted to be alone with Beck in the jungle. I only had six more days, less than a week, of freedom, and I wanted to spend each of those days with Beck. The realization was startling.
I nodded. “I really, really want to see a sloth.” It wasn’t a lie.
Beck’s eyes crinkled at the corner, matching the wide smile unfurling. “Okay, Lane. Tomorrow, we’ll find you that sloth.”
Chapter 17
Beck and I entered under the canopy of Manuel Antonio National Park, and—amongst the trees—I didn’t feel like an observer of nature but a part of it. The jungle teemed with wildlife: unabashed bird calls followed by flashes of bright feathers, rustling bushes, monkey tails, and proud, lazy iguanas. The color of the lush green forest would have been enough. It screamed life. Pura Vida. I got it now. In my mind, the phrase took a turn from hokey to sacred.
Animals and insects collaborated to create a symphony. I closed my eyes for a moment and took in the music of the jungle. I had to soak in what I could because this trip was going too fast. Only six days, and I’d be back in the office. I didn’t know how I was going to return to my old life after this.
It’s fine, I tried to tell myself. I’d still have calligraphy—Sebastian’s live lettering event, Kat and Jake’s wedding, but the comfort didn’t stick. I’d gotten lucky with those two jobs. The opportunities wouldn’t arise again without proper marketing, and I couldn’t swing that and keep up with work.
If anything, I didn’t even know if I had it in me to do those two jobs while working at The Arlow Group. I’d barely made it out alive with Victoria’s wedding. I could make it work if I had a job that didn’t require me to work so late and on weekends. But I didn’t.
And then there was Beck. I’d had a great time with him the night before. I hardly slept, knowing he lay in the dark only steps away. The dance—his body on mine—had awoken something in me, something that ached for him. I’d considered flinging the comforter off, crossing the room, and pulling him to bed with me. I fantasized about his chest pressed against mine, being caged by his arms.
But I didn’t act on it, of course. Because I knew none of the things that had been lighting up my life as of late could last for long. Not this vacation. Not my calligraphy side hustle. Not my time with Beck. It all had an expiration date. If anything, Beck and Reagan will probably reconcile by the end of the six days, I thought sourly.
Neither Beck nor I did much talking during the hike. It almost felt sacrilege to interrupt the wild. Occasionally, he’d hold out his hand to help me over a branch or rock. Other than that, Beck kept his hands to himself, a stark contrast to the evening before—my backside pressed into him, his hands on my stomach, my hips. The absence of his touch left me feeling hungry, starved to experience it again.
I chided myself. This is better. Simpler. Safer.
But I kept catching myself stealing glances at his reaction to the scenery, kept having to step away to separate us after pulling toward him like a magnet. I wanted him. I’d known that for some time. But that didn’t mean he returned the sentiment. He had Reagan to pine over, and now that I knew she wanted him too . . . Things were more complicated than ever.
I have to work with him. He’s my superior, even if just by a step, I reminded myself when a passing parrot made him smile so brilliantly that something in my chest pinched.
Falling for him would mean getting my heart broken by him.
This became my anthem for the trek, but with each repeat of the mantra, it seemed to lose its potency until it faded into the background.
At one point, Beck spun me around, pointing into the trees. “There! A monkey!”
“Where?”
Beck stepped closer until his chest met my back. He put his face close to mine and readjusted where he pointed until there it was. A tiny monkey with beady eyes and a black muzzle climbed down a vine with the grace of a Cirque du Soleil performer.
A surprised giggle bubbled out of me. Beck angled his face down to see my expression, and all but a few inches separated our lips. I grasped at something, anything to pull me back to my senses.
“We have to find that sloth,” I said, almost in a whisper.
