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I throw the sheets off me and stumble out of bed, heart pounding as I rush toward the bathroom. My bare feet hit the cool tile just as another violent wave rolls through me, and I barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving, gripping the porcelain edge like my life depends on it.
Tears prick at my eyes as my body trembles, emptying the little I have in my stomach. The smell of saltwater and Cole’s cologne still clinging to my skin, makes it worse.
When it’s finally over, I sag against the wall, my forehead resting against my forearm as I gasp for breath.
What the hell is going on with me?
The nausea had hit me hard on the plane yesterday, and I’d chalked it up to flying. Then I’d felt fine for most of the day, only to have it return again this morning, just as intense.
Was it something I ate?
Maybe it’s just exhaustion. My body catching up with me after the past few months of stress, the whirlwind of my life flipping upside down.
Maybe I just need to rest.
Yeah. That has to be it.
I force myself to sit up slowly, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, and stand up slowly, gripping the edge of the sink for balance. My body still feels shaky, my stomach uneasy, but at least the worst of it seems to be over.
I reach for a washcloth, wetting it with cool water before pressing it to my face. The sensation of the cold seeping into my overheated skin brings me back to myself.
After a few minutes, I feel stable enough to move again.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—wide blue eyes, flushed cheeks, hair a tousled mess from sleep and last night’s activities. I look… different. Not bad, just different. Softer, maybe.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
I’m fine.
Everything’s fine.
Shoving the lingering unease aside, I straighten my shoulders.
Time to shower, time to shake this off. The last thing I want is for Cole to take one look at me and know something’s wrong.
I don’t want him worrying.
***
The air is thick with the scent of grilled seafood, tropical fruit, and fresh bread as we weave through the crowded street. The sounds of lively music from a nearby café blend with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional call from vendors displaying their handmade crafts.
The sun is high, beating down on the colorful awnings shading the storefronts, and I find myself soaking in the warmth, grateful for the slow, easy day.
Robbie is practically vibrating with excitement, gripping my hand in one of his and Cole’s in the other. He’s been talking non-stop since we stepped off the boat, his little feet barely touching the ground as he hops between us, taking in everything around him.
“And then—did you see that boat? It was huge—like, way bigger than ours! And that guy was cutting up fish right there—right on the dock! Oh! Look, look, Annie, they’re selling coconuts! Can we get one? Dad, please?”
I glance at Cole over Robbie’s head, and he’s already looking at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. He smirks, shaking his head slightly before giving Robbie a small nod.
“Fine,” Cole says. “One coconut. But you have to actually drink the water.”
Robbie grins up at him. “Deal.”
We navigate through the crowd to the small stand where a man with dark, weathered skin and a bright smile is expertly hacking the tops off coconuts with a machete. Robbie watches with wide eyes as the man finishes prepping one and hands it to him with a straw sticking out.
“Thank you!” Robbie chirps, gripping it in both hands.
Cole lifts his brows at me. “Want one too?”