ended up working at a place like this. The hotel, El Cartana, was a luxurious place that stood proud and unrivaled upon a rocky outcropping jutting out over the ocean. It had multiple levels, and different areas of the hotel crept down the rock face, giving it a feel of being one with the shore.
Down below was a private section of white sandy beach, and up above was the tower, which boasted high-class rooms with nearly three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the island.
It did not seem like the sort of place a tough-looking Russian man might willingly choose to work.
“Good morning, Hop,” I said cheerfully as I popped the lids on the three coffees, a caramel latte, an Americano with two pumps of hazelnut, and a black coffee with a splash of almond milk and vanilla syrup. “How’s the day so far?”
Hop wiped his hands on a sanitizer towel and braced himself on the counter. “Good. Busy. You know how I like busy. Makes the hours fly by. And yours?”
I tucked the coffees into a tray. “Is it ever anything other than busy?”
He let out a deep, rumbling laugh, and shook his head at me. “You need a day off, Katie.”
“Sixteen straight,” I said. It had been a long stretch of work days. But I couldn’t pick and choose what dates my clients wanted to come to the hotel. As the honeymoon coordinator, I couldn’t take time off simply when I wanted it. They trusted me to make this vacation special and I would not let them down.
I had to admit though, my feet were pretty damn sore. Wearing five-inch pumps for ten hours a day every day for sixteen days had done a number on my feet. I had blisters on both heels and the sides of my pinky toes. Today, I’d opted for a three-inch wide-heeled sandal-type heel. It was still professional but a lot more comfortable than what I’d been suffering in for two weeks.
“I’ll get a day off eventually. Don’t worry about me, Hop. Thanks for the coffees. I’ll see you this evening in the cigar lounge?”
“Your cocktail will be waiting for you.”
“What’s it going to be tonight?”
Hop considered the question and scratched his clean-shaven square chin. “Something citrus focused, I think. Your dress inspired me.”
I laughed and turned from him to call over my shoulder. “I look forward to it.”
My orange dress was new. I’d spotted it in a boutique window the last time I went to visit Jackson in Nashville before he moved to New York City. I’d only worn it a handful of times and I supposed Hop never saw it. He always commented on my clothes, especially when they were bright colors like this one.
I made my way through the lobby. The men and women working behind the check-in counter all looked up and waved as I passed. I returned their enthusiastic greetings but kept my pace. I had places to be.
I stepped out into the morning sun and the heels of my shoes clicked along the brick path that wove through the massive courtyard gardens. Couples sat on benches with their morning coffees. Women rested their heads on their husbands’ shoulders. Husbands ran their fingers through their wives’ hair. Same-sex couples sat huddled against each other on blankets on the grass, fingers entwined, lips locked together in a display of intimacy that wouldn’t get them in trouble here.
Love was love.
At the El Cartana, partnerships of all and every kind were celebrated, and that was something I was proud of.
I smiled to myself as I passed more lovebirds and eventually made my way to the main tower, where I rode the elevator up to the top floor to the Diamond Honeymoon Suite.
The door was ajar, propped open with a chrome doorstopper. I stepped inside. The air conditioning was on and music was playing. It was a familiar upbeat tune but I didn’t know the words. Sunlight reflected on the recently polished white marble floors and it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the glare.
I found my two assistants, Roman and Ginny, steaming the sheer white curtains.
“Coffee delivery for my favorite people,” I said as I set the tray of coffees down on the glass coffee table.
Ginny abandoned the steaming machine and made for her coffee. She turned the labels out, reading each one, and found hers with a G slapped on the side in permanent marker. She grinned, pulled it free, and lifted it to her lips. “Does anyone make a better