Page 51 of Here for a Good Time

“It’s home,” Leila says. I turn, and I swear I catch a light sheen in her eyes before she blinks it away.

I’m not expecting it when she puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Thank you for convincing Tyler to buy this place. He’s been the best boss any of us could have hoped for.

He kept paying all of our salaries even while everything was being renovated and none of us were actually here.

I got to take a nice break and spend time with my family without worrying about my next paycheck. ”

I know I’m beaming. I’m so happy for her that I could burst. I look around, realizing that this is my first time back in this room since I almost, you know, died in it.

“I’m happy to be back. And that you’re still here,” I tell her. “How’s the rest of your family? How do they feel about the new ownership?”

“They love it,” Leila says, grinning like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “Tyler’s given them full access to the whole island. He’s also even given my grandparents a job.”

“A job? I thought they were retired.”

“Retired and bored.” Leila shakes her head in a Don’t get me started manner, but her grin doesn’t falter.

“So now they’re going to host cooking classes as a new resort activity.

Guests can trek up to the village and learn how to cook traditional dishes using ingredients that are found on the island.

It’s entirely up to my grandparents how many classes they want to host and what they want to make, as long as they give us a few weeks’ heads-up so we can inform the guests.

My grandma was thrilled. She offered to do it for free because she loves to cook and talk anyway, but Tyler refused. ”

“I’m so happy for them,” I say. “It sounds like your grandparents are actually excited about the resort now.”

“I hope so,” Tyler’s voice comes from behind me. “They’re our lead on-site project consultants. Have you guys tried Leila’s grandma’s rice salad? It’s—” He makes a chef’s kiss gesture with one hand.

“I was telling Leila that it’s so cool you employed her grandparents,” I say.

“Well, I want our guests to have a good time, and I realized, who better to ensure that than the people who know this island? Why would I hire some marketing firm to come up with a clichéd activities brochure for us when the people who know the most fun activities on the island are the ones who live here? Besides, I want good people on my team, and anyone that Leila vouches for—” He gives her a nod. “—is a good person in my book.”

“You’ve hired other local staff?” I ask.

Tyler nods, then gestures at Leila. “One of Leila’s uncles is a marine biologist, and lucky for us, he was thinking of moving back here.”

“The only thing holding him back was a lack of income,” Leila explains.

“Now he’s designing tours that will introduce guests to the sea life around here without disrupting the local ecosystem. It’s amazing, ” Tyler says, eyes widening with delight. Beside him, Leila beams with pride. “I can sign you up for one of the tours while you’re here, if you want.”

“That would be incredible,” I say. Remembering something, “And the helipad?” I ask.

“Dead, deceased, good riddance,” Leila confirms. “But they’d already done a bit of damage with the trees there so we’re not quite sure what to do with it. Tyler’s been having meetings with a group of local and external conservationists to figure out what the best plan is moving forward.”

“You seem really happy,” I say.

She nods. “I am. It’s almost like…” She stops with a twinkle in her voice.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like someone went and wrote us a perfect happy ending,” she says on a wink.

“Got our key cards,” Zwe’s voice says, and I feel the weight of his palm on the small of my back. “What?” he asks when I turn to him with a massive smile that I know is bordering on cheesy.

“Nothing,” I say. I fell in love with you here, I’m about to say, but that’s not true.

Here is where I realized how much I loved him, and what I would be willing to sacrifice to keep him safe, to which the answer was everything .

But I didn’t fall in love with him here.

I fell in love with him on the creaky paint-chipped swings in our school’s playground, during late-night university application essay-writing sessions in our parents’ living rooms, over chicken dan pauk that he prepared while I was working on my novels.

“What?” he repeats. He twists his lips, like he knows there’s something teetering on mine.

“I love you,” I say simply.

He cocks a suspicious brow. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean ‘is that it’? That used to mean something,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“That’s where you’re wrong, darling. It didn’t mean something—” His face softens, and he plants a kiss on my forehead. “—it meant everything . Still does.”

“Aaawww,” Leila squeals, and stops herself by slapping her mouth with a hand. She shoots Tyler an apologetic look. “Sorry, boss. I’ll be professional, I promise.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Remember, I’m a cool boss,” he says, and Leila snorts. A staff member calls out Tyler’s name from near the entrance, and he raises a finger at them. “Sorry, gotta run,” he says, walking backward so he can still address us. “I’ll see you all at dinner tonight!”

Once he’s gone, Leila turns around, her mouth opening with a small Oh as she remembers something. “Poe, how’s the new book going? Are we getting something soon?”

Zwe’s touch, still around my waist, gives me the smallest squeeze. A You okay? squeeze.

And I am.

“Actually, this second one might take a while,” I answer honestly. “Maybe the end of next year at the earliest. I’m trying not to rush it, though.”

“Well, yeah, you’ve already got so much other stuff going on. I mean, moving continents alongside working on a whole-ass movie of your first book?” Leila purses her lips like there’s nothing more she needs to add.

And she’s right. I am doing so much.

When we had gotten settled back home, the next book I finished was, as I wanted it to be, a romance novel.

It was a love story that was clearly written by an author who had recently and unashamedly fallen heels over head in love, one that screamed about the transcendent joy of meeting someone who sees and understands you in a way that makes you go, Oh, so that was why it never worked out with anyone else ; it was not, as I wanted it to be, a hit with my agent or my editor.

We went through two rounds of substantial edits before I made the call that we’d all been dancing around for months and shelved it.

As predicted, there was a lot of crying and self-doubt and bouts of “What if I never publish another book? Who am I if I’m not a writer?

” crises. For months, I couldn’t stomach the thought of even opening a new Word document because every time, I’d think, What is the point?

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a romance writer, I told Zwe over dinner one day.

Maybe, he mused.

So you think I’m not a good romance writer? How dare you, I replied, both surprised and offended at his response, although when he smirked, I knew I’d walked right into a trap.

My instinct, as always, was to dive headfirst into yet another new draft—except this time, I didn’t.

Instead, I told both my agent and editor that I was going to be taking a few months off (a decision that, despite my unfounded fears, they totally rallied behind), and I let myself enjoy the wonderful, privileged post-bestseller life that I’d worked so hard to achieve but had barely appreciated.

“Does it bother you that you’re not a literary darling anymore?” Zwe asked one night as we were settling into the couch to watch the latest episode of The Bear .

“A little, but I’ll deal with it,” I said truthfully. I booped the tip of his nose. “As long as I’ll always be your darling.” And he rolled his eyes and told me I was cheesy, but he couldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the day.

With my writing on pause, I went to cooking classes and hosted dinner parties at our place for our friends and for Zwe’s cousins and parents, I read books for pleasure, we spent lazy rainy evenings cuddling outside on our balcony.

I (finally) finished building the Taj Mahal Lego set, and started volunteering twice a week at an animal shelter (Zwe doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to be adopting a dog within the next year; Soraya and I have already decided that it’ll be named “Dazzle”).

I baked Zwe a three-tier carrot cake with chai spice frosting when he got into his PhD program, and we had cake for breakfast for a consecutive week.

I flew out to Bangkok and spent two device-free weeks with my parents, although I did sneak in a work event and acted as Pim Charoensuk’s conversation partner for the launch of her gorgeous book, which had my blurb at the top of the cover.

Last summer, I carved out a three-week trip to the UK, and Soraya introduced her son to Cool Aunt Poe and I babysat him so she and Alex could have proper out-of-the-house date nights.

As it worked out, mine and Zwe’s place in Oxford is a three-minute walk from theirs now, and we have a double date night every Saturday.

(The three of them will be arriving at the resort the day after tomorrow, their first foreign family holiday.)