Christmas comes and goes. We’re in between show blocks right now, and most of our rehearsals have involved teaching the new dancers for A Crazy Little Country Called America the routine that I already know, so the producer is surprisingly okay when I float the idea of taking some time off for what I call a “family thing.”

I unblock Carter, then text him and tell him I’ll come, reiterating it’s solely for moral support.

I need to make sure he understands that even though we’ll be in a tropical location, this is not free rein to return to our summertime friends with benefits situation.

His text back is a smiley face, and he tells me his guy will be over soon to grab my passport so he can expedite it. We’ll leave within a week.

Part of me is excited for the trip. But another part of me wonders if I caved to him too easily.

When we land, we’re picked up at the airport by a driver, Ronaldo, who brings us in a van the five hours to the coast.

We stop along the way for a lunch buffet, and I take a few moments to change into shorts and a tank top to match the sunny weather. The hot, humid air is a welcome reprieve from New York in January and after a few more hours we arrive at the beach house Carter rented. Inside, he drops my luggage on the bed in the master bedroom, and puts his things in an adjacent, smaller room.

I’m beginning to think he really is serious about just being friends with me. It’s a bittersweet thought that this--by all of the signs I’m getting from him--could be our last few days truly hanging out together.

Later, we take a walk on the beach, and I can’t help but feel a knot in my stomach. He’s been largely silent during the plane ride, deep in thought.

Glancing at Carter, I notice he seems especially pensive at the moment, his eyes narrowed as we saunter along. I swear I sense a strange energy coming from him. I wonder what Tarot card he would draw right now.

“So,” I say. “Are you going to follow up at all from our airport conversation?”

“I didn’t mean to be weird. I need to clarify some things,” he responds. “Most of what I know about him, I learned from the private detective I hired.”

“Okay. Because I must admit, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

We continue walking down the shoreline. The sky is a blue-orange hue as the sun lowers itself on the horizon. Couples lounge on the beach, taking selfies and enjoying the sunset with no filter.

“Jeff fucking Doonsbury. What a tool. He’s done so much, it’s hard to believe sometimes.”

“What else has he done? I mean, aside from fathering and abandoning multiple children.”

The water washes over our toes, and the waves crash continuously. I find the white noise comforting.

“Well, according to the reports, he has mob connections and owns a chain of warehouses,” Carter says.

“What’s so bad about owning warehouses?”

He swallows. “He uses those warehouses to run an international drug dealing operation.”

My eyes widen. “Holy shit. Which drugs?”

“It’s mostly a cocaine operation.” Carter takes a deep breath. “The point is, he’s a powerful billionaire. If we ever raise a paternity suit in public, it would lead to a lot of digging around in his personal and business life that he wouldn’t want exposed. It would likely ruin his political career, and then some. So we need to tread lightly about that. He’s a shady motherfucker.”

Carter stops walking and stares out into the distance.

“But, what are you scared of? What do you think he’d actually do?”

“When my mom finally told me the truth about him, she shared her biggest fear was that he would kill me and get away with it.”

My eyes bulge, and I feel my stomach twisting. As shady as Jeff Doonsbury is, I have a hard time processing the fact that he could be a murderer, too. “You don’t think he’d do that for real though, do you?”

“I don’t know what he’s capable of, honestly.”

A strong wind blows, and we both walk in silence for a few ominous beats, neither of us sure what to say next.

Gazing at Carter, a strange feeling of connection rolls through me.

Interrupting the silence, we hear the cheery beat of reggae music, coming from a beachside restaurant.

“I’m hungry. Are you?” he asks.

“Yes. Come on.”

Carter takes my hand and leads me to the restaurant, through the sandy beach.

I don’t protest as I let him lead the way.

The touch feels nice.

We pull up to a table.

“It’s late. Tomorrow morning we’ll find my father.”

I nod in agreement.

“For now, let’s just have a friendly night of food and conversation. And, let’s get drunk.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The waiter comes by and we order appetizers and Carter picks out a bottle of red wine. I notice it’s the most expensive one on the list.

“Are you two celebrating anything?” our waiter asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” I say. “Friendship.”

The corners of Carter’s lips turn up in a slight smile, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like life is going to be wonderful.

Like I’m not reaching for some infinite thing that I missed out on, and will never find.

I feel whole.

“Cheers,” Carter says, and we clink glasses and take a sip. “So I’ve been talking your ear off. Tell me about your New York life.”

“I will, but one thing first.”

“Of course.”

“Just because we’re in Costa Rica enjoying fine wines, doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

“Wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“Liar.”

“I told you, I’ve come to terms with us just being friends. I want you to be happy.”

“Okay,” I say, and wiggle my toes in the sand.

It’s an oddly selfless statement, coming from Carter.

Now I’m the one wondering if I can be just friends with him.