Honeymooning by Rachael Herron Page B

country and all. But after all that tequila, I was in a state I’m still not recovered from. Holy crap .” Tom pointed to the left. “Would you get a load of them.”
    The dense undergrowth had been cleared out, and a small patch of carefully cultivated grass lay beneath a rustic wood picnic table. As they drove by, a group of four older people, two women and two men, turned to look at their car. Each one of them waved cheerily, and through the window, Janet could see them mouth, “Aloha!” Their arms waved as if they were performing for a pageant, elbow, elbow, wrist.
    Each one of them was stark, staring naked.
      Tom’s mouth hung so far open Janet was quite sure they’d been able to see his tonsils as they drove past, but she had to admit, even she was surprised. Nude was one thing, on a beach, perhaps, but naked sitting next to a road was, well... really naked. She’d only planned on seeing one man without his clothes on today, and those two elderly gentlemen at the picnic table hadn’t exactly been what she had in mind.
      “Ain’t they worried about gettin’ sunburned? You see that one guy? He looked like a boiled tomato,” said Tom, finally able to speak again.
      “Well, they’re probably locals. From a commune or something. Having their lunch al fresco,” said Janet.
      Tom said, “Huh.”
      He turned the car down another even smaller drive marked “Moonlight Escape. Private: Registered Guests Only,” and pulled to a stop in front of a small sky-blue building that matched the sky above and echoed the water below. The grounds were well-manicured, and the design was tasteful. Understated.
    Oooh. Someplace like this would have cold bottled water, and sparkling wine on ice. Tom had done well. She kissed him over the gear shift as he pulled up the parking brake. “I love it already,” she murmured.
      “Come on, sugar, you’re in for a treat.”
      He helped her out of the car as he always did—one of the first things that had attracted Janet, after his belt buckle and the way his shoulders looked in blue chambray, was his instinctive gentlemanliness. He held her hand as they walked the crushed-shell pathway into reception.
      Inside, the desk clerk was an older woman, with probably twenty years on Janet’s forty-eight. She had ruddy cheeks topped by a mop of blond curls that was held up by a clever red satin ribbon.
      The ribbon was the sum total of her wardrobe.
    Tom’s eyes snapped shut, and Janet almost didn’t blame him. The desk clerk’s nipples were somehow…shocking. It was difficult not to gawk at the enormous, light-pink discs against her fairer skin. They were the size of dinner plates. Luckily, the desk was hiding most of her nether regions; Janet prayed she wouldn’t stand up, or she’d have to worry about Tom having a stroke.
      “Aloha,” the woman said, with a friendly smile. “We’re so glad you’ve arrived. I’m Ginny, and you must be the Morgans, am I right?”
      “Oh, you’re sweet. How did you guess?” asked Janet, inserting enthusiasm into her voice. Tom still hadn’t opened his eyes. She elbowed him the slightest bit, and he looked up at the ceiling as if the light fixture was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
      “You’re our only guests arriving today. The other cottages are just full up—the whole island is, ‘cause of that marathon—and aren’t you lucky you got this one! You’re just going to love it. We have all your paperwork together, all I need is a signature right here.” Ginny leaned forward, her breasts supported by the counter, and held the pen out to Tom. “Here you go.”
      Tom, looking pale, took the pen and signed, all while keeping his eyes on the skylight. “Thanks. Yeah. Uh-huh,” he mumbled.
      “I’ll just show you to your cottage, then, okay? This way.” Ginny came around the desk, and Janet learned that she wasn’t a natural blond.
      Tom’s fingers dug into her elbow harder. “Gently,