How to Honeymoon Alone

“That’s not a problem,” the host says and grabs another menu. “Right this way.”

He turns and sets off through the packed restaurant. I remain locked in a staring contest with the intrusive stranger.

He raises an eyebrow. “Share the last table?” he asks and motions for us to start moving.

I’m too stunned to do anything but follow the host obediently through the restaurant. He leads us to a two-top right next to the boardwalk and the soft waves. There’s a single lit candle on the table, it’s flame flickering in the light breeze.

“Here you are,” the host says cheerfully and sets the menus down. “Your waiter will be over soon to take your drink orders.”

And just like that, I’m left staring at the tall stranger in front of me. He pulls out a chair and takes a seat as if he hasn’t just stolen it. There’s a hint of stubble along his sharp jaw. He looks closed-off and a bit predatory, like he spends a lot of time getting his way. Just as he is right now.

“Excuse me,” I say. “What was that?”

“Maybe I just wanted to get to know you,” he says.

Judging by his lack of accent, he’s American, too. I cast a meaningful look around the crowded restaurant. “No, you wanted a table in a full restaurant.”

“Nothing escapes you.” He nods to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat.”

“You know, I studied karate for seven years, and I always carry pepper spray. Not to mention we’re in public.”

“Consider me warned,” he says and opens his menu. “They do good fish here, I’ve heard.”

I finally sit down, my movements slow. “Yes. It’s in the name.”

He gives a low hum. I look down at my menu, but the words bleed together on the page. At least his sudden arrival means I don’t need to think twice about what the other guests may be thinking, seeing me here alone.

Across the table, he flips a page of his menu. “Dinner is on me as a thank you,” he says. “Choose whatever you want. And no need to worry about awkward small talk, either, if you’re not in the mood. I have some emails I need to take care of.”

I look at him. “You’re going to work?”

He keeps his eyes trained on the menu. “Would you rather we talk about nothing important just to fill the silence?”

“Wow. I… just wow.”

He looks up with a faint frown. “What?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever spoken to me the way you just have.”

“Right. I can be direct.”

“No, really?” I ask. Sarcasm drips from my words.

He puts the menu down, and it looks like it pains him. “I’m sorry about crashing your evening. Is it okay with you? Say no and I’ll leave, no questions asked.”

“It’s okay,” I hear myself saying because, if nothing else, this is a story to tell Becky about. “I’m just… surprised.”

He nods like that’s that, and returns to his menu.

The silence stretches between us. I read my menu without really taking in the words and sneak looks at him. I haven’t spoken to a man who wasn’t my family member, a coworker, or a friend’s husband since Caleb and I ended our engagement.

He leans forward, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. A heavy watch on his wrist reflects the flickering candle on the table.

“What are you having?” I finally ask him.

He closes the menu with a snap. “The steak.”

“The steak,” I repeat. “At a restaurant famous for its fish? On an island in the middle of the sea? You do know that swordfish is famous in Barbados?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’m having the locally sourced marlin.”

He makes that low humming sound again and reaches into the pocket of his slacks. He pulls out a phone and puts it on the tabletop. “I don’t want to be rude,” he says, “but I really do need to answer a few emails.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“You’re working on your vacation?”

His eyes are already on the screen. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just order room service?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up at me, but he seems to tense up at my question. “My room wasn’t properly cleaned when I arrived. They’re fixing it now.”

“Oh.” That seems… odd at a five-star resort, but okay, then. I entertain myself by reading through the dessert menu, and then the wine list. My eyes graze over the impossible prices of the glass to the bottle. Between mine and Caleb’s salaries, this was a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

Staying at the Winter Resort was always going to be a stretch. When I sat down to cancel the honeymoon and learned about the cancellation fees we’d have to pay for the flights, and the deposit we’d lose on the standard double at the resort… well. Caleb already took the wedding from me, and I’ll be damned if he takes my lifelong dream vacation, too.

Past Eden wouldn’t have considered traveling to a foreign country on her own. But Eden of several months ago thought her maid of honor was one of her best friends, and her fiancé was the man she was going to spend a life with, so she wasn’t exactly all-knowing, either.

And apparently, present Eden is an adventurer, willing to dine with a complete stranger in paradise. I feel locked in place at the table. I’m not eating alone, at least, but I’m still nervous. Just for a different reason now.

I glance over at him. He hasn’t even told me his name. Judging by the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, I suspect he might be a few years older than me, but not much more. He’s frowning while he answers emails.

Work’s probably not going great, I think. I’m grateful my kindergarten students barely know how to write. No emails for me to stress over.

The waiter returns to our table. “Ready for drinks?”

“Red wine,” the man across from me says. “The Merlot.”

“Coming right up. And for you, ma’am?”

“I’d like a rum punch, please.”

The waiter’s smile stretches wide. “The house cocktail. Great choice. Is this your first time dining with us?”

“First night on the island, actually.”

“Really? Welcome!” he says, looking from me to the man opposite me. “You two will have a wonderful time here. It’s the most romantic of the islands, you know?”