Page 35 of The Other Side of Paradise (Story of Paradise #2)

Allison

I woke up in a different bed than usual, bleary-eyed, sitting up with a yawn that startled out of me when I saw the veranda doors open and Stella Valerie Bell standing out in it with a cup of coffee and a sheer, silky gown that blew in the wind.

I didn’t manage to say anything—I was busy with a heart attack—but I think she heard me choke on my lungs seeing her there, because she turned back with a soft smile that made my heart explode.

She didn’t say anything, not right away, just stepped inside, her gaze fixed on mine, and I flashed back to last night, my body flaring up with awareness as she set down her cup and leaned against the doorframe, and softly, she said,

“You snore like a dump truck.”

“Huh?” I flushed, clapping my hands over my mouth. “Shit, seriously? I didn’t think—I’d never—”

She laughed, throwing her head back. Oh, god, she was pretty. “I’m kidding,” she said. “You do mumble a little in your sleep, though. It’s cute.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, and I pouted, picking up a pillow and throwing it at her. “Good morning to you, too, you bully.”

She laughed, catching the pillow and dropping it on the couch, and I had a heart attack when she leaned over the bed and took me by the cuff of the bathrobe I’d worn to bed, pulling me out of bed, stumbling over to the doorway with her, where she gestured me to the glass table on the little back patio, a pot of coffee in the center. “Coffee?”

“Well, now look who’s the concierge. Thanks… this is super sweet.”

She laughed, sitting down with me, peaceful in the morning, the sunlight still rich with early-morning golden hues, the wind crisp and cool around us, and as she poured the coffee from the pot into the second cup, I considered ripping my skin off and throwing myself screaming down the hill into the ocean.

We’d just… what? It wasn’t sex. And now we were pretending everything was cool and normal?

Was it nothing? Just something friends did?

I’d sure as fuck never done that with a friend before.

And if I had and I’d wanted to emphasize that it didn’t mean anything, I wouldn’t invite them to spend the night and then grab them to drag them into bed when they tried to take the couch.

That didn’t make a lot of sense. But the other option was that Stella actually liked me, and that didn’t, uh… that didn’t check out.

Stella broke the brief silence that had settled with, “Mom and Dad are bugging me to go meet up with them. I’m not exactly thrilled about it.”

“Oh, yeah…” I winced. “Is everything going to be okay? You still never resolved things with that big fight…”

“I’ll be fine,” she sighed. “Just as long as I’m not alone with Dad. But Mom will be there, too, and probably plenty of others. They want to talk about brunch. They talked about it in the family group chat like it was an ultimatum… everyone is so stressed and high-strung.”

“Sucks,” I said. “I mean, that they can’t just let something go. Cutting off their noses to spite their faces, at this point. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You could give me something to look forward to,” she said with a glint and a smile my way. “They’re going to want to lock me down for the afternoon, but then we should grab dinner.”

Oh, god. That sounded like she was asking me out to dinner. “Oh,” I said after a beat. “Like, with Ryan and Brooklyn?”

She waved me off, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to interrupt their wild sex life. I’m sure you know all the good places for a meal around here. There’s a lot of Jamaican restaurants around here, right? What do you say?”

She was asking me to dinner. In, like… a friendly way? Because if she wanted to go on a date with me, she really could have just said so. My brain fizzled.

I didn’t think last night was something we’d have done if she just wanted to be friends. But… I had no fucking idea. Was she just… I don’t know. Exploring?

“I, um,” I started, my voice anxious. I didn’t even know what I was saying. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do tonight, so I don’t know if…”

I was going to rip my own face off. Was I saying no right now? To Stella Valerie Bell asking me out for dinner? What kind of fucked-up psychoactives were in the coffee?

I mean, I knew full well what I was doing—I was protecting myself from her, or fucking well trying to.

If I went out to dinner with her, I’d be so uselessly in love with her that I’d spend forever pining.

Just like a… a… pull the band-aid situation.

And she was straight besides—had said it multiple times.

If she wanted to try something different, she needed to say so clearly.

I was scared of rejection and hiding from it, but I wasn’t admitting that. Not to myself, not to anyone.

Stella gave me a look like she knew I was making it up, but she didn’t press it. “Guess I could explore the place myself,” she said, her voice a little awkward, as she looked back out over the water. “I forget people have lives and, like, stuff to do.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” I was making things worse. I needed to shut up.

“No, it’s cool. I don’t mind.” She gave me a fake laugh as she sipped her coffee again, not finishing it but setting it down and standing up anyway.

“I could do with a shower… you know, before I face the music with my parents. For real, though, send me a recommendation of a good spot to grab some jerk chicken or something. I know you’ve got it all in your secret concierge book. ”

“There is a spot I know is popular with adventurous eaters…”

She laughed, not quite looking at me. “I guess that is what I am,” she said. “Really been paying attention.”

I couldn’t think of a single aspect of her entire existence I didn’t want to pay agonizingly close attention to. “You said you like calamari. That’s enough for me to decide you’re an adventurous eater.”

“It’s good. ”

“I’m glad you like it, Stella, I’m just saying, rubber bands are cheaper if that’s what you want to eat.”

She laughed, shaking her head, and she paused in the doorway, giving me a loaded look—sweet and sentimental and sad all at the same time, and it made me feel like my heart would explode.

“I guess I’ll get you a big pack of rubber bands, then.

To say thanks for the recommendation. I’ll make sure to look for the most delicious brand. I’m sure Wolfgang Puck has a line.”

“Oh, the Jamie Oliver line is my favorite.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. Bon appetit.” She turned away with a small sigh that I think she didn’t mean for me to hear, and she headed back into the room, the shower turning on shortly after.

I can’t believe we were having a loaded, sentimental conversation about eating rubber bands. There was something wrong with me.

Whatever. What-fucking-ever. I was working tomorrow and the day after, and then the day after that was Sunday, when she was heading back to the mainland and leaving all this behind.

I was just setting myself up for heartbreak getting too close to her, too attached.

I needed to step back anyway. I’d done it in the stupidest possible way, but I’d done it.

I didn’t finish my coffee, either—it wasn’t even very good coffee, just the typical sour swill from an in-room Mr. Coffee machine—and I took it upon myself to rinse out both cups in the kitchenette, leaving them on the rack to dry as I changed back into yesterday’s clothes, trying not to think about what was happening when I took them off.

Being sad was one thing, but being sad and aroused would be a stupid combination.

Once I was dressed and I’d cleaned myself up as best I could without the bathroom, I paused at the bathroom door, listening to the water running inside, before I managed to say, “Hey, um… I’m just running out to grab some breakfast. Do you want me to get anything and bring it back for you?”

Her voice was muffled from inside, through the running water and the wooden door. “You’re a sweetheart. I’m good, though. I’ll head straight over to talk to my family…”

“Good luck, okay?”

“Yeah. You too.”

Well, at least I wasn’t the only one to autopilot to you too when it didn’t apply. It was, at least in a sea of insecurities, one little bit of reassurance.

I headed outside, my head a swirl of anxious and uneasy thoughts, and I’d been so distracted with the churn in my mind that I let my guard down, and I was walking past the pool towards the cafeteria when I heard a voice from the bar—not BB’s voice, but her coworker Ramón, who always wanted a conversation with any warm body in his vicinity.

And didn’t know how to pick up on cues like me shuffling away with my head down that might have signaled I don’t want to talk right now.

I was pretty sure he didn’t know those words could be put in that order.

He called out, “Allison—good morning!” and I froze up, tensing and looking over to where things just got worse at the sight of Brooklyn, sitting at the bar with a curious smile my way, out on the customers’ side of the bar.

Ramón waved, beaming, and I gave him a thin, fake smile.

He had no idea what he’d just dragged me into.

“You’re not on the schedule today,” Brooklyn said lightly. “What, couldn’t help wanting to see me?”

Oh, god. I was not letting her find out what had happened, find out…

why I was at the resort. I shot her a look.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t in her uniform.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I said.

“You’re not on today, either. Don’t tell me you had a fight with your girlfriend and that’s why you’re drinking alone at the bar… ”

She smiled wider for some reason I didn’t want to know. “Ryan’s inside talking to her parents. I’m on standby for emotional support.”

Well, that shot me down. “Oh… well,” I said, “aren’t we big softies?”

She flashed teeth in a grin. “So, where’s Stella?”

Oh, god, I was done for. “Uh—” I looked away, hands in my pockets. “I dunno? I’m not her keeper.”