I blew out a breath, my chest tightening in the already humid air. “You don’t have anything else?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But I had reservations.”
“I’m very sorry. We had a hiccup in the system. Since it said your check-in was yesterday, we gave your room to those on standby,” he tried to explain and imperceptibly nodded toward the secondary line full of impatient guests. “We’re at max capacity.”
I pressed my lips together. There was no point in arguing or yelling. This wasn’t his fault, and the situation was what it was, but shit, this was bad. “Can you let me know if anything opens up tonight?”
Even for eight hundred a night. Damn, Sam and April were not a cheap couple.
“Of course. Please enjoy a complimentary drink at the bar for the inconvenience,” he added, slipping a drink voucher across the counter.
The look on my face must’ve conveyed a much lower level of patience, or maybe just the right amount since so many were getting visibly upset around me. Some had even started muttering and one man became loudly irate. In any case, the manager slid a few more vouchers toward me.
I thanked him. He was kind and worked within his limits, and I wasn’t a jackass. I was, however, going to break the bank at this rate. Easing away, leaving the crowded lobby, I was immediately met by a balcony-style enclosed lounge overlooking lush gardens with vibrant blooms, a manicured lawn with a generous pool beyond, and in the near distance, the ocean. The ocean breeze swept up and into my nostrils, soothing any irritation.
It could be worse.
Sitting at the bar and furiously looking up every hotel in the vicinity—which honestly wasn’t a lot, but then again, this wasn’t a city—I ordered a drink and began making calls.
One after another. Everyone was booked.
“Why’s it so busy?” I asked the bartender.
“Ironman,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
“What’s that?”
“The worldwide championship triathlon. Brings in thousands of visitors, athletes, and spectators to the island.”
Talk about bad timing. The couple had been so careful to plan around holidays and times that were inconvenient for their guests and wedding party, yet here we were.
Not to worry. Surely someone wasn’t coupled or rooming with another person and could spare some space. Maybe?
Who would I ask? Sam was definitely a no. He might’ve had his own room, seeing that the bride wanted the bridal suite to herself to relax in and get ready at before they met again as a married couple, but I couldn’t crash with the groom. He was probably stressing out and had a detailed itinerary down to the minute. He was one of the most particular men I’d ever known, a perfectionist to heart.
Aamar, the best man, was here with Maya, his girlfriend and the maid of honor, and they probably wouldn’t like having a third wheel during what was most likely a romantic getaway for them.
The only person left was…
My ex was here somewhere. Sejal, who always found a way to remind me that my emotional range was about as robotic as the coding I wrote. She’d wanted me to be a grand gesture type of guy. But she equated my level of devotion to how many roses were left on her workplace desk, the amount spent on gifts, or whirlwind surprise weekend getaways.
“It’s social media; people try to look perfect,” I’d told her. “Life isn’t that romantic.” (I’d learned that wasn’t ever the right thing to say.)
“Romance takes effort!”
“Then tell me what to do and I’ll try.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you!”
I’d tried, although according to Sejal, I hadn’t tried hard enough. What my ex wanted was a romance book lead: someone who knew what the hell he was doing and did it well.
“Ever think maybe she just didn’t inspire you?” Sam had once asked me.
The thought had boggled my mind. But I’d loved her; why wouldn’t she inspire me? And if she, a woman I’d been with for years who had woven herself into the very fabric of my family and life, didn’t inspire me, then no one could.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was dead inside. A robot better suited for typing out millions of lines of letters and numbers and symbols to make something from nothing, a digital hunter of 404s. Not a person meant to show affection.
I’d known all along she’d be here. Sejal was April’s close friend and a bridesmaid. I was Sam’s close friend and a groomsman. He’d checked with me to make sure I would be okay with the arrangement, but what was I supposed to say? No, have the bride take her out of the wedding party?
Bracing for her presence only added to my anxiety.
I threw back the last of my drink. The sour burned down my throat. I should probably eat something or else I was about to be drunk without a room to crash in.
Back to making more calls, this time with hotels in Kona. The closest, and largest, nearby town was a good forty-minute drive. Which meant I’d have to get a rental car of my own.
The few people around the bar shuffled out.
I groaned and glanced at the pool, my gaze drifting toward a woman two seats down the counter. I hadn’t noticed her before because a behemoth of a man was sitting in between us, but I noticed her now. It was hard not to see her with her nose in her tablet feverishly reading away and sipping a tall, iced glass of what was probably water or clear soda.
That pulled-back purple hair.
Those sweatpants.
Bane. In the frumpy-ass flesh.
Five Bhanu
