Stop comparing, Hollie. Roger is not Keith.
This is a new day!
Or it was, but now the day is over, the golf carts are put away, and the clock is tiptoeing toward yet another meal. “Feel like a quick swim?”
Swimming? Really? Can’t we just stare into one another’s eyes over a nice bottle of local wine?
“Now?”
“Do you have other plans?” he smiles. Warm and fuzzy erupts like a soda bottle left in the afternoon sun.
“No other plans.”
Swimming. In my bathing suit. My four-year-old, very saggy, wildly unattractive bathing suit. “We could do that.”
“Go change. I’ll meet you in the lobby in, say, twenty?”
“Sure. Yeah. Okay, sounds doable.” Panic. Thud thud thud, says the heart. s**t. Things were going so well too. Now he’s going to see my third-world bathing suit and all bets are off.
Unl
