I came to the island looking for serenity, a new beginning to heal from my past. Instead, I discovered HIM—charming, attentive, and everything I hadn’t realized I needed. But just as I began to trust in new beginnings, a single moment shattered everything.
Despite the fact that I had lived there for decades, my living room felt unfamiliar. At 55, I stared at the open suitcase, wondering how my life had come to this.
After two years of work, my novel was inside. It wasn’t finished, but it was mine, proving I wasn’t completely lost.
Then Lana’s email arrived:
“Creative retreat. Warm island. Fresh start. Wine.”
The island greeted me with a nice wind and the rhythmic sound of ocean waves breaking on the shore. For a moment, I closed my eyes and took a big breath, allowing the salty air to fill my lungs.
This is exactly what I needed.
But the tranquility did not last. As I approached the retreat, loud music, and laughter replaced the island’s peacefulness. People largely in their twenties and thirties lounged on brightly colored beanbags, clutching cocktails that appeared to be more umbrella than liquid.
Before I could hide in the shadows, Lana emerged, her sunhat angled at a jaunty angle and a margarita in hand.
“Thea!” she shouted, as though we hadn’t emailed just yesterday. “You made it!”
“You need to meet people and soak in the energy! Speaking of which,” she grabbed my arm, “I have someone you must meet.”
Before I could object, she dragged me through the crowd. I felt like a frumpy mother at a high school party, trying not to step on abandoned flip-flops.
We stopped in front of a man who resembled a GQ cover model, believe it or not. Sun-kissed skin, a comfortable smile, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to be provocative without being sleazy.
“Thea, meet Eric,” Lana said with excitement.
Lana smiled as if she had just lined up a royal engagement. “Eric’s a writer, too. He’s been dying to meet you since I told him about your novel.”
My cheeks reddened. “Oh, it’s not finished.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eric said. “The fact that you’ve poured yourself into it for two years… that’s incredible! I’d love to hear about it.”
But after a few minutes, whether it was Eric’s unmistakable charisma or the wonderful seaside air playing tricks on me, I agreed to go for a walk.
“Give me a moment,” I asked, unexpected even myself.
Back in my room, I rummaged through my suitcase, pulling out my most flattering sundress.
Why not? If I’m going to be dragged around, I might as well look good doing it.
Eric showed me areas of the island that were unaffected by the pandemonium of the “retreat.” A secluded beach with a swing suspended from a palm tree, a hidden route leading to a cliff with a stunning view—places not mentioned in any guidebooks.
“You’re good at this,” I said, laughing.
“Making someone forget they’re wildly out of place.”
His smile widened. “Maybe you’re not as out of place as you think.”
As we spoke, I laughed harder than I had in months. But, beneath the laughing, something tugged at the edges of my mind. I couldn’t describe the small unease I felt. He appeared too perfect.
The following morning began on a good note. I stretched, my mind racing with thoughts for the next chapter in my novel.
But the moment the desktop appeared, my heart stopped. The folder containing my novel—two years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights—was gone. I looked through every area of the hard disk, hoping I had misplaced it. Nothing.
But I knew I didn’t. I hurried from the room and went straight to Lana. As I walked down the hall, faint noises drew my attention. I froze, my heart racing. Slowly, I approached the sound. The door to the next room was slightly ajar.
“We just need to pitch it to the right publisher?” he said.
My blood became chilly. Eric’s voice was distinctive. Looking through the gap, I noticed Lana leaning in, her voice a low hum of conspiracy.
My stomach churned with rage, treachery, and, worse, disillusionment. Eric, who had made me laugh, listened to me, and earned my trust, was a part of it.
I turned away before they could notice me and went to my room. I slammed my suitcase shut, shoving clothing in clumsily.
By the time I left the island, the dazzling sunshine seemed like a terrible joke. I maintained my attention forward, unwilling to look back. I did not need to.
Months later, the bookstore was filled with excitement. Rows of seats were occupied, and the air was alive with talk. I stood on the stage, holding a copy of my novel, and tried to concentrate on the people looking back at me.
After the signing line had shortened and the last guest had left, I collapsed into a chair in the store’s corner, tired. That was when I noticed it—a small folded note on the table.
“You owe me an autograph. Café around the corner when you’re free.”
The handwriting was familiar. My heart skips a beat. Eric.
For a second, I pondered crumpling it and walking away. But instead, I sighed, got my coat, and went to the café. I recognized him immediately.
“Thea, I need to explain. What happened on the island… At first, I didn’t realize Lana’s true motives. She convinced me it was all to help you. But the moment I discovered what she was planning, I took the flash drive and sent it to you.”
“She always envied you, you know,” Eric said quietly, breaking the silence. “Even back in university, she felt overshadowed. This time, she saw an opportunity and used both our trust to try and take what wasn’t hers.”
“You made the right choice. That counts for something.”
“Does that mean you’ll give me another chance?”
As we left the café, I saw myself smiling. That one date led to another and then another. Before I realized it, I had fallen in love. And at the time, it wasn’t one-sided. What began as betrayal has grown into a partnership based on understanding, forgiveness, and, yes, love.
