CHAPTER 38

Twenty bucks to look at a collection of plants and birds? What a rip! Of course, I have no choice but to pay it if I want to get into Flamingo Gardens, so I begrudgingly slap down my Discover card and slide it over to the girl in the ticket booth. She tells me that tram tours start at eleven, which I don’t care about because I’m hoping I’ll be out of this tropical not-paradise by then. For all I know, Zane might not even be here. I’m just taking a chance because I didn’t find him at home and I know he likes to go to Flamingo Gardens early on Sunday mornings before all the families descend on the place. There are something like three thousand species of exotic flora in these gardens, plus animals of every variety—gators, turtles, panthers, flamingos, even a black bear, and Z enjoys taking pictures of all of them.

I look down at the map the girl at the ticket booth gave me. Ugh! I’ve got a lot of walking ahead of me and I’ll probably be a sweaty mess by the time I do find Zane.

“Ow!” I reflexively smack my hand against my neck when I feel something biting me and see a smushed mosquito on my palm after pulling it away. Gross. I’m going to be eaten alive in this humid, bug-infested place. I wouldn’t have worn perfume if I’d known I was coming here, but I got all dolled up in my cutest, low-cut, flouncy-skirted mini dress, thinking I was going to be speaking with Zane indoors where there was air-conditioning and no chance of being attacked by blood-sucking insects.

“¡Hijo de puta!” I smack my shoulder when I feel another sting. This is ridiculous. I should go back to the gift shop and buy some bug spray before I end up with Zika or West Nile Virus. But then I’ll reek of chemicals instead of the alluring scent of JLo’s Miami Glow and that’s not how I want to smell when I’m having my big, romantic moment with Zane. Okay, so I’ll just walk really fast through all this lush vegetation and hope that a moving target is less appealing to these little bastards.

I truck up the walkway, veering left when I get to a circle and see a pink trumpet tree. Unfortunately, it’s not currently blooming, or this would be a great selfie opportunity. I continue down the winding path, not really paying attention to all the palm trees and flowering bushes on either side. I should probably be thinking about what I’m going to say to Z when I see him. I haven’t laid eyes on him since the night of the storm, nor have we spoken outside of some very casual, how-you-doin’ type texts. He hasn’t mentioned Orla directly to me at all, so I have no idea how their date went Friday night. I had a moment of panic when I got to the crap shack at the butt crack of dawn this morning (okay, it was around eight-thirty, but that’s super early for me on the weekend!) and Z wasn’t there. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that he’d spent the night at his new British squeeze’s (after they’d gone on a second date that was even more amazing than the first) and the thought made me want to throw up my mango pastelito. (Yes, I stopped for breakfast along the way and I know I’m supposed to be living on a budget now that does not include eating every meal out, but it’s a process, people!) Anyway, I quickly came to my senses, reminding myself once again that Zane would never sleep with someone so early in the relationship. Hell, it took him four years to score with me, and I was the one who made the first move.

The path I’m on ends in front of a star fruit tree, and I have the option to go left or right. I consult the map and determine that most of the spots Z favors are to the left, which makes my decision easy. I’ve only gone a few feet down the new walkway when a large peacock strides out of the foliage (they roam free all over Flamingo Gardens) and stops right in front of me, blocking my passage.

“Hey, dude, you need to make way. I’ve got people to see,” I tell the bird while furiously scratching bites on both arms. The peacock doesn’t move; he just opens his beak and lets loose a horrible, high-pitched shriek.

Uh oh. Is that some sort of battle cry? He’s not going to pounce on me and try to peck me to death or something, is he? Trying not to make any sudden movements, I pull my iPhone out of my purse and do a quick Google search. Okay, phew, peacocks are not known to harm (or nosh on) humans. This one’s probably just being protective of his territory or maybe he’s hungry and hoping I have some snacks to share.

“Sorry,” I lift both hands in the air, “but I am fresh out of caterpillars, or whatever it is you fellas eat.” I back up a few steps, not breaking eye contact (show no fear!), then slowly circle around the bird. As soon as I’m behind him and out of his sight, I start speed-walking to the butterfly garden, which is at the far end of this particular path. I’d run, but these black crochet lace-up wedges I’m wearing are intended for strutting, not sprinting. Also, according to Google, peacocks will give chase if they see you bolting. I don’t turn back to see if the big, blue bird is following me until I get to the butterflies where there are several people milling around (not Zane, which is a bummer). Thankfully, my shrieking friend is nowhere to be seen, so I eluded him. Well done, Izzy!

“Ow!” I smack my cheek when I feel a sting there. Damn these mosquitoes! Why don’t they pick on someone else?

All right, so Zane is not at the butterfly garden. Where to next? I see a sign with an arrow pointing to the hummingbird garden, which is just around the corner, so I head in that direction.

When I see that Z’s not hanging with the hummingbirds either, my shoulders sag with disappointment. As I trudge defeatedly around the perimeter of the Flamingo Café and contemplate going inside to grab a consolation cheeseburger (I know it’s too early for lunch—shut up!), I start to think that coming here might not have been my brightest idea. Maybe I should go home and forget this whole thing. I don’t even know how Z’s going to react when I tell him that I dumped Eduardo and want to be with him. He could say, “So what?” and reject me. Ha! Hilarious. Like any man’s ever rejected me. Still, telling a guy I have feelings for him is a new experience for me and it’s kind of scary, not to mention confusing as I have no clue how to go about this. I don’t want to be all sappy and gross like some chick in a rom com. That’s so not my style. ¡Ay, mierda! There he is!

I stop dead in my tracks when I see Zane’s tall, lanky frame standing over by the wood railing that encloses the flamingo habitat. I should have known he’d be with the flamingos! He loves snapping shots of those pink, long-necked birds and of all the pictures he sold at that art gallery exhibit recently, he did make the most money off his one of the flamingo. (P.S. I was highly insulted by that!)

Not giving myself a chance to wuss out, I march purposefully over to Zane, whose back is to me. “Ack!” I exclaim with irritation, smacking a hand against my chest as I’m divebombed by yet another mosquito. These mofos are relentless! But I will not be deterred. I keep moving forward until I’m right behind Z. He’s got his eye pressed up to the viewfinder of his Nikon and he’s clicking away, so he’s completely oblivious to my presence. I tug on his T-shirt (the one that says “Oh, Snap!” and has a picture of a camera on it) to get his attention.

He glances back over his shoulder, and his eyes widen with surprise. “Izzy! What are you doing here? And why are you covered in blood?”

I am? I look down and sure enough I do have streaks of blood all over my bare skin.

Making a face, I say, “I’m not sure if that’s my blood or the mosquitoes’.” Seeing all the red bumps caused by those ravenous bugs makes me feel itchy again, so I start scratching my neck, then my arms. “They really seem to like me.”

He smirks. “Because you smell so good. You know better than to slather on perfume and body lotion before coming to a place like this. You’re advertising an all-you-can-eat buffet for the bugs.” He bends down to get something from the camera bag at his feet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I’d be trekking through a steamy jungle when I left the house this morning. I went to the crap shack, looking for you, but you weren’t there, so I thought I’d check out this place since I know you like to come here on Sunday mornings.”

Z’s got a bottle of water and one of the cloths he uses to clean the lens of his camera in his hands now. “And why were you so hot to hunt me down?” he wonders as he pours some of the water onto the cloth, then uses it to gently wipe away the blood on my neck and chest.

“Ummmmmmmm . . .” It’s hard to think straight when he’s so close and he’s being so sweet. I want to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes or kiss that sexy mouth of his. I never noticed before, but his upper lip is a little fuller than his bottom one, which gives him this cute, pouty look. Stop obsessing about his lips, Izzy! You came here to tell Z something, so get on with it! “I needed to talk to you.”

Taking my wrist in his hand, he starts cleaning away the dried blood there, working his way up my arm. “You couldn’t have texted or called? Must be pretty important.”

Oh God, he’s stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Does he have any idea what that does to me? Last time he did it, I couldn’t resist the urge to jump his bones and if we weren’t in a public place right now, with small children nearby, I’d happily do it again.

“It is,” I admit. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I decided to take your suggestion and start my own party planning business.” I hadn’t intended to lead off with this, but why not? It is news I wanted to share with him.

He drops my arm and raises his golden-brown eyes to mine, with a smile. “No kidding? I think that’s great. If there’s anyone who was born to be a party planner, it’s you.” He picks up my other arm and starts swiping at the blood there.

“It’s such an obvious career choice for me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. I guess I couldn’t see the beach for the palm trees. Thank you for giving me a push toward the water.”

“You’re welcome.” He looks down at my arm and grimaces. “These bites must be itching like crazy. Why don’t we head back up to the gift shop and get you some calamine lotion?”

“No!” I grab his hand with both of mine, and when he gives me a questioning look, I tell him, “There’s more I want to say.” My eyes dart around, taking note of how quickly the area’s filling with flamingo enthusiasts. “Could we go somewhere less crowded and noisy?” I can barely hear myself think over the sound of all these flamingos squawking.

“Sure.” He reaches down for his camera bag and throws it over his shoulder. He probably wants his hand back, but too bad, I’m not letting it go now that I have it.

He escorts me out of the flamingo area, past the café, across the tram path, then over to another walkway that snakes between a bunch of trees. “So, Eduardo gave you the money for your new business then?” he queries conversationally as we amble along.

“In a way.”

Zane frowns at me. “What’s that mean?”

“My father gave me the start-up money for Parties With Izzy, or Izzybrations, I’m still on the fence about the name, but he told me I couldn’t expect to make a profit for a few years. So . . . I sold my engagement ring and got a great price for it—forty grand! That’ll give me something to live on while I’m getting the business off the ground.”

He looks befuddled. “I know Eduardo isn’t that observant when it comes to you, but surely he’ll notice the big rock missing from your left hand.”

Stopping next to a weathered white bench nestled amongst some greenery beneath a lichen-covered tree, I turn toward Zane. “He said I could do whatever I wanted to with the ring when I called off our engagement a few days ago.” I hold my breath in anticipation of his response.

“Huh,” he says, his face registering no emotion.

“Huh?” I spit out the word indignantly while tossing his hand away. “I tell you that I’ve broken up with the rich, gorgeous Latino who wanted to marry me and make it so that I never had to work another day in my life and ‘Huh’ is the best you can come up with?” Feeling an all too familiar burning sensation on my arm, I slap my hand against the flesh with a new ferocity because these mosquitoes (and Zane!) are really pissing me off!

“Huh is the same thing you said the night I announced my engagement. So, apparently, you just don’t give a shit what I do! Argh!” I smack my neck when I’m bitten by yet another voracious insect.

“You know that’s not true. Izzy—” He reaches for me, but I take a step back, eluding his grasp.

“No, I don’t.” I claw at my neck, which only makes the itching worse, but I can’t seem to stop. “You make me second guess my decision to marry Eduardo, then you have sex with me, which ends up changing everything, but you won’t even talk to me about it because . . . Ow!” I smack my cheek. “Because you’re too busy cozying up to Posh Spice. Sonofa—” I flick away the mosquito that’s making a snack of my left forearm. My skin feels like it’s on fire all over now and I just want to make the itching stop, so I dig in with my nails and scratch like a woman possessed.

“Stop! Izzy!” Zane grabs my hands, pinning them to my arms. “If you keep scratching, more histamines will be released, which will make you feel even itchier. Let me put some bug spray on you before you hurt yourself.”

I scowl at him. “You have bug spray? Why didn’t you say that before?”

With a sigh, he drops down on one knee to unzip his camera bag. “I haven’t had a chance with you dropping bombshells on me left and right, then jumping on my case about everything. Here,” he rises to his feet, shaking a can of Off. “Close your eyes and hold out your arms,” he instructs, and I obey because I’d do almost anything right now, even roll around in a pile of flamingo poop, if it would keep these nasty mosquitoes away from me.

I hear the “ssssssss” sound of the aerosol can and feel a cold mist blanket my skin, which is heaven (if heaven has a stinky chemical odor).

“Better?” Zane queries.

I open my eyes and quickly scan my arms. “I don’t feel like I’m being chomped on anymore.”

“Good. Let’s sit.” Zane takes my hand and tries to pull me down onto the bench alongside him, but I hesitate because I’m still miffed about the whole “huh” thing and now that the feelings conversation is upon us, I’m not really sure I want to go through with it.

What if Z says we could never work as a couple and he thinks we should just stay friends? I can’t do that, not now that I know how good we are together. All this time I thought that friendship and passion were mutually exclusive, but our night together proved otherwise. And I want more of that. More of him. I wish I had some idea of how he felt before going any farther down this road . . . ugh! If all this uncertainty and angst is love, then I’m going on record to say that it sucks burro balls and I’m glad I avoided it up ‘til now.