no problem—and the new KitchenAid mixer, and I kept the nonrefundable honeymoon.
She’d also kept the best man. The one she’d cheated with.
No problem.
Still, it certainly was not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone. Especially not now that he was here in Central America, ready to embark on some to-hell-with-it adventures. Those would definitely include surfing and zip lining. Good drinks, beautiful beaches, exotic foods.
They also might include getting laid. If he happened to meet a woman who was interested in a rebound-sex-fest with a Chicago firefighter who had a slight chip on his shoulder and a honeymoon package created for two but starring only one.
“Here we are, señor,” said the driver.
The ride from the international airport in Liberia to this west coast paradise had been comfortable. The driver had pointed out various sights that Leo felt sure he’d explore over the next several days. No doubt about it, Costa Rica was every bit as beautiful—sunny, robin’s-egg-blue skies, vivid hills and jungles, perfect eighty-degree climate—as the brochures had said. An outstanding choice for a honeymoon. Even a solo one.
“Thanks, man,” he said.
The driver pulled out his suitcase and handed it off to a broadly smiling doorman who quickly swept it through the entrance of the hotel, which, as advertised, looked small, tasteful and upscale. Inside, Leo glanced around, noting that every wall seemed open to the outdoors. But it was still comfortable, a soft tropical breeze blowing through, whispering along the cool tile floors and setting the potted palms in gentle motion.
A bellhop engaged him in conversation in heavily accented English as they walked to the check-in desk. Leo only understood half of what he said, responding with smiles and nods.
The woman at the desk greeted him. “Welcome, Mr. Santori, we’re so very glad to have you with us.”
She smiled, obviously noting his surprise at being called by name. Then he thought about it and realized he might very well be the only person checking in today. He remembered from the research he’d done on this place that there were only twenty-four rooms on the whole property. Twenty-four bungalows each with a small, private pool and walled garden, just the thing for a romantic interlude between a new bride and groom.
Christ, what was he doing here?
The middle-aged woman, whose English was only slightly tinged with an accent, glanced past him and looked around the open lobby. “And where is Mrs. Santori?”
He grimaced. Obviously, despite his calls and his emails, word had not filtered down to the front desk that he would be traveling alone.
“Uh...”
“Oh, dear,” the woman said, reading something on the screen and biting her lip in consternation. She swallowed, visibly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Santori, I didn’t see the notation on your reservation.”
Okay, so somebody had paid attention when he’d changed the reservation to make it clear he was no longer traveling with a companion. It had just taken her a moment to see the note. He wondered what it said. Maybe: attention—pathetic sap was cheated on and didn’t get married.
He doubted it happened often, but he couldn’t be the first single-on-a-honeymoon vacationer they’d ever seen.
He didn’t ask her to turn the screen so he could read it. His imagination was good enough. “No problem.”
She smiled her appreciation. “How was your trip from the airport, sir?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Wonderful.” Her fingers continued to click on her keyboard as she finished working on his check-in. “We have you in our Emerald Bungalow. It’s one of our nicest on the west side of the property. Sunsets over the Pacific will make you gasp.”
Yeah. He was sure he’d be doing a lot of gasping during this trip, just not for the reasons he’d expected. It sure wouldn’t be out of breathlessness from the ninety-seven ways he and Ashley would have been having sex.
He pushed her name out of his head. He’d done a great job of that for the past six months, since the day he’d mistaken her phone for his and discovered the kinds of intimate sexting pictures he’d never want to see from a guy. Definitely not from Tim, his own old friend...and best man. Especially not when those messages were written to—and welcomed by—Leo’s fiancée.
Six months had been enough to calm the anger, soften the insult, heal the heart. For the most part. It maybe hadn’t been enough to kill the embarrassment, which was what he most felt these days when he thought about it. Which wasn’t often.
It was only because he’d come here, to take advantage of the nonrefundable vacation he’d paid for months before the scheduled wedding date, that he was thinking of his ex. Back home in Chicago, around his big extended family, or the guys at the station or the women wanting to help him jump back into the dating game, he was able to forget there’d ever been an Ashley. Or that he’d ever been stupid enough to think he’d really been in love with her. If he’d really been in love with her, Tim wouldn’t have ended up with a broken nose— he’d have ended up in traction. Or, if his great uncle Marco—supposedly mob connected—had had his way, with a pair of cement shoes.
But no. That wasn’t Leo’s way. No broken legs or kneecaps, definitely nothing even worse. Ashley just hadn’t been worth it. When it came right down to it, he’d known his pride had been a whole lot more bruised than his heart. So he’d walked out on her without a big scene, not moved by her crocodile tears. And he’d let Tim off with a punch in the face...and a warning to watch his wallet since Ashley was a bit of a spender.
Frankly, that was why he figured she’d gone for the guy to begin with. The one place Tim had ever outdone Leo in anything was the wallet. Hopefully the lawyer would continue raking in the bucks to keep Ash supplied in the stupid snowmen figurines to which she was addicted. Actually, screw it. He didn’t care if she never got another one, or if the freaky-faced little monsters melted. At least he didn’t have to look at them anymore.
“Sir?” the desk clerk prompted.
Realizing he’d let his mind drift, he shoved away thoughts of Ashley. He was in paradise and had no room in his head for anything dark. “Sounds great, thanks.”
“Here you go,” she said, handing him a plastic keycard. She also gave him a map of the property. “I hope you have a wonderful time. There are so many things to do, so many people to meet.”
He needed to get away from her slightly pitying expression before she mentioned that she had a single niece or something.
The bellhop approached with his suitcase and led him out of the lobby onto a path that wound through the lush grounds. He pointed out a few conveniences including, Leo thought, directions to the pool area and the beach. Or maybe he’d been pointing out a bird or an outhouse, frankly, Leo had no idea.
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a thatch-roofed cottage. “You,” the man said with a big smile.
Nodding, Leo slid his key into the reader. The light didn’t turn green, and he didn’t hear a click as the lock disengaged.
“Is no good?” the belhop asked.
“Doesn’t appear to be.”
The worker took the key card, tried himself, several times. It didn’t work for him, either.
“Forget it. I’ll have them reprogram it,” Leo said, not happy about having to trudge back to the lobby. Right now, he just wanted to strip out of his clothes and take a cool shower.
“Here,” the bellhop said, pulling out his own master keycard. That would save him the lobby trip for a while, anyway.
Following the man inside, Leo glanced around the room. It was large, airy, bright and immaculate. The vaulted ceiling was lined in pale wooden planks and two fans spun lazily overhead.