How to Honeymoon Alone

If he kills me, tell everyone back home that I loved them very much. Also, I’m in a blue sundress if you need to identify my body over the phone.

Got it. I’ll make sure your case becomes the best podcast episode ever. Also. HOW HOT IS HE?

I didn’t answer her all-caps question.

It’s a tricky one. Objectively, yes, hot would be the right description of the man sitting beside me, his face turned toward the waves and a strong arm draped along the backrest. But it’s the cold, impersonal kind of handsome I’ve always struggled with. He’s a bit taller than the norm, hair a bit wavier, perhaps. His face is sterner than a man his age should have.

Yeah. He’s hot. And absolutely nothing like my ex, or any of the guys I’ve had crushes on before Caleb.

Our fishing guide’s name is David. He’s a fifty-year-old Bajan with an easy manner and a teasing glint in his eyes. He slows down the boat and lets it come to a rolling stop amid the turquoise waves.

“You ready?” he asks us. “Because I have to warn you, you’re both going to catch something.”

I eye the fishing rods David is holding. “I’m ready, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Phillip says at my side. “It doesn’t take a lot of skill.”

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His mouth tips into another one of those small, almost-smiles. “That’s a good thing.”

I get up off the bench. “You’ve done this a lot?”

“Once or twice.” He accepts a rod from David that is nearly as long as he’s tall. “To be honest, I did this a lot as a kid.”

“Really? Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

David hands me a rod of my own. He’s well acquainted with the fact that I’m a beginner and finds a lot of amusement in instructing me how to grip the rod, and how to flick and cast it.

David and Phillip take turns instructing me how to rhythmically tug on the line as I slowly reel it in, to mimic the swimming of a real fish, and draw in the bigger ones.

“Do fish really swim like this?” I ask them, my arms growing tired. “In weird bursts of energy?”

But neither of them thinks my question merits a lot of consideration.

Phillip catches the fish first. He gets the second one, too, and then David catches a marlin. It’s too small to keep, unlike Phillip’s two barracudas, so it gets gently put back into the water to swim another day.

My arms are thunderously tired when something finally tugs on my line.

“Oh my God. I think there’s a fish.”

“Just a nibble?” David asks. “Or is it hooked?”

“Uh, what’s the difference?”

“Is it tugging?”

“Yes,” I say, my arms going taut. “I think it’s hooked?”

“Reel in the line,” Phillip says. His voice is coming from close by, his own rod forgotten. “Slow and steady. That’s it. Reel it in just like that.”

“It’s heavy,” I say. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Maybe this is what they like? The thrill of the chase? “Can you see it?”

He leans over the side of the boat. “No… yeah. David, are you seeing this?”

But David’s ready with the net. Up comes a large, yellow-green fish. It has a blunt face like a pug.

“Oh my God! What’s that?”

“You caught a dolphin,” David says.

“A dolphin?”

“Yeah. Dolphinfish. You guys will often call it mahi-mahi,” he says. The fish gives a mighty wiggle. “Look at that! Your first catch!”

“Should we throw it back?”

“No, no, this will feed an entire family. Yes, please!”

Next to me, Phillip’s words are quieter. “Great job, Eden.”

“All I did was hold a stick,” I say.

“No, you rhythmically tugged on it, too,” he corrects. “And that made all the difference.”

That makes me laugh.

Fifteen minutes later, and our fishing trip is concluded. David suggests we both take pictures with our catches. Phillip is pretty unwilling, but as I pose with my giant dolphinfish that’s decidedly more fish than a dolphin, I’m grinning. Another check on my “explore Barbados” list.

Behind the camera of my phone, David frowns. “I can’t get you and the fish in the shot. Can you back up?”

I take a small step. “Like this?”

“More.”

I back up. Then, I back up a bit more, until the back of my legs hit the railing of the boat. I’m thrown off balance. My arms flail, but there’s a giant fish in them, and I can’t straighten up. The mahi-mahi slips through my grasp and lands on the deck… just as I start to tilt backward.

“Eden!”

I claw towards the railing as I flip over it. But it’s no use. I go overboard.

I hit the dark-blue surface of the sea. Lukewarm water surrounds me, and I quickly kick back up to the surface. We’re far enough off the coast that I can’t see the sandy floor in the depths.

Phillip laughs. I’ve never heard it before. He laughs so loudly that it echoes across the waves, but sounds entirely genuine. Even when he bends over the side of the boat to extend a hand, he’s laughing-deep chuckling sounds that soothe the worst of my shock.

I tread water and reach my hand up to wrap it around his. “You okay?” Phillip asks, still smiling widely. It lights up his face.