was the sort of woman who felt easy to talk to but I didn’t want to come out of the gate confessing how old, weak, and forgetful my father had become, and how much of a burden that had been on me over the years as I watched him slowly wither away into a shell of the man he used to be.
Yes, I was running away.
“I’ve also met solo travelers who are looking for independence,” Katie said. “Usually, this is a sign that something has changed in their personal or professional life and they’re looking for a clean slate. Tropical waters, sandy beaches, and twenty-four-hour service at a resort is a nice way to reset. But you’re not staying at a resort, are you?”
I shook my head.
She nodded like a fortune teller reading my palm. “I didn’t think so. Which means I’m a little out of my depth here. But there’s one other thing, perhaps the least common.”
“And what’s that?”
She shrugged. “Solo travelers are also running toward something.”
“Toward what?”
“Change usually. Something new. Something they haven’t done before but have always thought about in the back of their minds. It’s a good way to reset and remember who you are and what you want. St. John is good for a little soul searching.”
Soul searching. Is that what I’m doing, running toward change?
Katie glanced at a white leather watch on her wrist. It had a gold face and a diamond trim and there was no doubt in my mind it had been an expensive purchase. Had she bought it for herself? Perhaps. She was a career-driven woman obviously. Or had a man bought it for her?
I gave my head a shake as we approached my “new” old truck. Who was I to be wondering if she was single or not? I’d barely known her for eight minutes.
Still, I wondered.
We reached my truck and I tugged the passenger door open. It tended to stick but I didn’t have to work too hard for it today. It opened with a groan and I lifted the bag of fruit into the middle of the bench seat before stepping aside to let Katie climb in. I closed the door after her and walked around the hood before sliding in behind the steering wheel. By that point, she had her seatbelt on and was grimacing at her watch again.
“Pressed for time?” I asked.
“Quite. I’m sorry. I know that’s rude.”
“Not at all. You’re on the clock. Let’s get you back there before these clients of yours realize you’re gone.”
Dirt and dust followed in our wake as we made our way down the road. Katie gave me directions toward the El Cartana, which was about a twenty-minute drive from town so long as one adhered to the low speed limits on the island. Most locals putted around on scooters which were also available for tourists to rent. It made a serious reduction of traffic on the roads, but we inevitably ended up stuck behind a slow-moving tour truck like the one I’d come into town on the other day.
“Shit,” Katie breathed. “I always get stuck behind these things at the worst possible time.” She slumped back in her seat.
“I can go around.”
She shot me an intrigued but cautious look. “Technically, you’re not supposed to do that here.”
“Technically?”
A smile curled the corner of her lips, and for the first time, I realized she had dimples—or rather, one dimple. It pressed into her left cheek but not the right. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Who would I tell? I don’t know anyone here except for you.”
She smiled in earnest and gripped the handle in the passenger door like we were in a Formula One car or something. “Proceed, good sir.”
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. This thing can’t go very fast. I think the engine is half rusted out of it anyway.”
I waited for the road to straighten out before making my move. We pulled out into the lane of oncoming traffic, which was empty as always, and I hit the gas. The truck roared, the exhaust popped, and Katie laughed uproariously as we sailed past the truck. She stuck her head out the window and waved at the driver while calling out genuine apologies. I ducked back into the lane and kept up my speed so we could put the truck far behind us.
Katie fell back against the bench seat in a fit of giggles. “I can’t remember the last time I went over thirty miles an hour in a car. This