It could be, if this were real.
“All done,” Dara announced, her hands lifting away. “You take time to rest. Water is very important after massage. And maybe—” She glanced between them. “Maybe you talk. Sometimes the body releases what the heart needs to say.”
Oh, wonderful. Relationship advice from the spa staff.
“Thank you,” Chloe managed, accepting the warm towel Dara offered. “That was wonderful.”
Both therapists gathered their supplies, bowing before departing. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Chloe and Skeet alone in the treatment room with nothing but fluffy robes and a sudden weirdness.
Even Skeet seemed to feel it.
He sat up, his body glistening with the massage oil. “Well,” he said, reaching for his robe. “That was... informative.”
Chloe turned her back to him. “They were just being nice.” She slid off the table, dragging the sheet with her, and reached for her robe. A little terrycloth armor. “Reading into things that aren’t there.”
“Right.” His tone suggested what she felt.
When had Thailand gotten so hot?
She headed to the changing room. Ran, really.
When she emerged, he was dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and his bamboo flip-flops.
“Lunch?” Skeet asked, but she didn’t miss the way his gaze skimmed over her sundress.
“Sure.”
“They reserved us a private cabana near the pool. I’ll order lunch service.”
The infinity-pool area sparkled under the midday sun, its edge blending with the azure horizon. Their private cabana sat on the elevated terrace, offering panoramic views of the Andaman Sea while maintaining enough seclusion for whatever conversations honeymooners might need to have.
Or whatever conversations pretend honeymooners might need to avoid.
Ploy, their female concierge, appeared as if summoned. “Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds! How was your massage? Wonderful, yes? Ihave prepared your lunch table in the cabana as requested. Very private, very romantic.”
“Perfect,” Skeet said, tipping her. “We’d like some time alone, if possible.”
“Of course! Bancha will bring your food, but otherwise, no interruptions. Enjoy your... together time.” Ploy’s smile suggested she had very specific ideas about what honeymooners did with together time.
Oh, Chloe felt like a fraud.
The cabana sat under a cloud of sheer white curtains billowing in the sea breeze, their fabric catching the golden light. Plush cushions surrounded a low table carved from driftwood. Crystal glasses caught prisms of light, scattering tiny rainbows across the arrangement of bird-of-paradise flowers that spilled from a carved coconut shell.
“This is nice,” Chloe said, settling onto the cushions with what she hoped looked like casual appreciation. Cool. Collected. Not affected by the romantic ambience or the way the filtered sunlight caught the gold flecks in Skeet’s green eyes.
“Very nice.” He poured ice water from the pitcher. “You seem more relaxed.”
“The massage helped.” She accepted the water, using the action to avoid his too-perceptive gaze. “Nothing like professional muscle torture to work out the kinks.”
“Is that what we’re calling yesterday?”
Her hand stilled on the glass. “What do you mean?”
“Kinks.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” She took a drink.
He didn’t smile. “You’ve been wound tight since... well, last night.”