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changing the table linens now,” she motions to the two women setting out white tablecloths and nice china, “the restaurant takes on a bit more of an ‘island-formal’ feel. Dinner will be served between eight and nine-thirty, and the bar closes at eleven.”
    A young man approaches us, carrying two iced beverages, handing one to me and then one to D. “Welcome to Ti Kaye. My name is Pilgrim, and I’m one of the bartenders. Anything you like, I will make for you,” his accent is the heaviest I’ve heard since I’ve been here, but I can still make out every word. “Please enjoy our signature rum runner to begin with.”
    “Thank you.” I smile warmly at him before he turns to leave, then take a long, refreshing drink from the rather stiff fruity cocktail.
    I try to listen to Lena as she continues on about the dress code at night and a special wine-tasting service, but when we step out on the veranda, I forget everything except the panoramic landscape laid out in front of me. The calm blue water washing onto the sandy beach alcove down below is only a piece of the scenic puzzle. High up on the side of a cliff, a blanket of bright, blossoming flowers mixed perfectly in a blanket of green spreads out as far as I can see on both sides of me. My first time out of the state of Oklahoma, and I’m utterly speechless about the beauty I’ve missed out on for nineteen years.
    “In addition to this restaurant and pool area, there’s also a restaurant and bar down at the beach open from eleven to six, and there are plenty of chairs and umbrellas, snorkeling equipment, and scuba gear down there as well,” Lena’s voice reenters my consciousness. “I’m going to walk you down the road to your cottages now to give you a chance to shower and relax before dinner. Come this way.”
    We begin to follow her up a gravel road away from the main house. D has yet to say a word since the beginning of the tour, and since the last thing he said to me in the car, I’m keeping my distance. She continues to talk as we stride up the moderate incline, perhaps not noticing the tension between us.
    “There are nineteen separate cottages where your entire group is staying, except for Isaac, the group coordinator, and the couple of people he brought with him, who are housed in the ocean-view duplexes closer to the pool area. Including you two, there are fourteen of you here now, and the remaining five should be coming in later this evening.” She pauses to check her watch. “It’s nearly six now, so you’ve got a couple of hours before you’re to report to the dining room for dinner. Tonight, Isaac has asked everyone to meet at eight sharp so he can do an introduction and go over the schedules included in your packets. If you find you’re lacking anything in your room, please don’t hesitate to ring the front desk, and we’ll take care of it for you immediately.”
    Lena stops walking at the dead-end of the road and smiles at us, D straggling behind me. “Well, here we are. Miss Criswell, you’re in the N right over there,” she motions with her hand to the left, “and Mr. McKay, you’re directly next door in the M cottage.”
    Of course he is.
    After we both thank her, I hurry into my quaint red-roofed, white-walled bungalow, eager to see my home for the next couple of weeks, and more than ready to be away from D for a while.

    As I walk up onto the sprawling porch outside, I’m blown away with the simple opulence of it all. A double hammock, two wicker rocking chairs with a matching table, and my own private plunge pool overlooking the expansive waters all await me, inciting musings of many early mornings and late evenings enjoying the serene seascape.
    Amazingly, the luxurious inside rivals that of the outside. A wood-carved, four-poster, king-sized bed dressed in white linens sprinkled with colorful flower petals and draped in a white canopy sits dead-center in the room. It may very well be the most beautiful bed I’ve