When the whites of his eyes flare, that’s when I realize how boyishly human Eli is beneath the irritation, self-inflicted routines, and cloud of mosquitoes.
“I think we should go inside,” I suggest, then suck my cheeks in to stop myself from losing it completely. If I laugh, he might get back in his car and leave me here. I can’t risk it.
Walking toward his bag, I lift it off the ground as his arms flap around like he’s fighting a ghost, muttering mild threats at the bugs. His footsteps follow me quickly from behind, his usual composed veneer peeled away.
“Fuck off,” he shouts as if his authority alone should send the insects away.
Failing to hold myself together, I explode with laughter as I reach up to open the small wooden door.
“Stop laughing. It’s not funny,” he admonishes.
It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. “Sorry.” I’m not.
Eli darts in behind me, having to duck under the doorjamb to get inside because he’s so tall and the door isn’t. Pushing me inside, he then slams the door behind him before peering through the circular porthole window in the door like there’s a bear outside waiting to attack him and he’s ready to defend himself.
I lay our bags on the floor, then wait for him to say something because he’s still flapping about, making sure he’s got rid of each and every bug that followed us inside.
“Why are they all on me?” he grunts, half frustrated and half irritated, while I am fully amused and he’s almost completely out of breath.
“Are you sorted now?” Who knew an army of tiny mosquitoes could take out a six-foot brute of a man with the highest IQ I’ve ever met.
In a low impatient tone that’s laced with disbelief, he opens his mouth to reply but when his gaze lands on our sleep situation, he stops then barks, “Two single beds? What the fuck is this shit?”
“Oh, yeah, so about that. Because our booking was at the eleventh hour, this is all they had left.” I’m rambling now. “It’s okay though, we can scoot the beds together. Problem solved.” I blow air into my cheeks. It’s then I notice angry-looking red lumps forming in his cheek, and his arm, neck, and forehead. Wow, that’s quite a reaction. “Are you allergic to mosquitoes?” I point to his face.
“No.”
That can’t be true. “I’ll ask if they have any antihistamine.” He’s going to need it. The bite under his eye is bigger than all the rest. If that swells some more, it will impair his vision.
He strides to the small mirror on the wooden dresser to examine his skin. “Motherfuckers.” Lifting his chin upward, he grimaces. “I’ve been eaten alive.”
Within seconds, too. He’s going to look like a human pincushion by Sunday.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I say, feeling terrible. I’ve already pushed him too far outside of his comfort zone, and the weekend hasn’t even begun.
This weekend was designed to stretch boundaries safely, not traumatize him.
Eli eyes the sweeping arc of the roof that forms a soft dome at the top. “I’ll be fine. I just need to freshen up. Where’s the bathroom?” He scans the small space and finds nothing, disoriented.
Oh hell, this next thing I tell him isn’t going to go down well either. “It’s outside.”
“Outside?” His lips thin with annoyance.
“It’s only a short walk away.” That’s what it said on the website. “It’s next to the shower block.”
“Shower block?” He stiffens like I struck him.
The more irritated he becomes, the funnier it is.
In spite of doing everything to keep it together, I laugh out loud, uncontrollably, until he joins me, his laugh deep, rich, and warm, and a sound I love so much and wish he would do more often.
Eventually, he falls into the chair behind him, holding on to his ribs, his full-hearted belly laugh easing off.
Doing my best not to smudge my mascara, I wipe the tears away from under my eyes from laughing so hard.
Eli leans back in the chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t a retreat, it’s hell on earth,” he says on an exhale.
I make my way to him, his eyes on me as I approach, openly studying me as I drop to my knees in front of him, his attention looking down at me intensely.