Free Anything But Love by Abigail Strom

animals, and I don’t have a savior complex. And where are you getting the lost-cause thing?”
    “Well, what do you call me?”
    He stopped walking. When she realized it, she stopped, too, and turned to look at him.
    “I don’t think you’re a lost cause,” he said. “I’ve never thought that.”
    She looked skeptical. “Really?”
    “Yeah. Really.”
    “You thought I was so pathetic that you put your life on hold to come with me on this trip. You think I need saving, Ben.”
    “Even if I did, that wouldn’t make you a lost cause.”
    “Okay, then. What makes you think I’m not a lost cause?”
    He ran a finger along one of her Speedo straps. “This.”
    She stared at him. “What?”
    “This bathing suit. It’s old and a little bit frayed here and there. It’s not fashionable. The only reason for you to wear it is because it makes you happy. Swimming makes you happy. And as long as there’s one thing in this world you do because it brings you joy, then you’re not a lost cause.”
    Her gaze fell. She looked down at her toes curling in the sand, and didn’t say anything for a minute.
    “You’re right,” she said finally.
    “About what?”
    “Swimming. I do love it. As long as I can remember, it’s been the one thing I do just because I enjoy it.”
    “Okay, then. There’s your blueprint.”
    She looked up again. “My blueprint? My blueprint for what?”
    “For the rest of your life. Your life post wedding.”
    “Post getting jilted at the altar, you mean?”
    He grinned at her. “Exactly.”
    She folded her arms. “All right, then. Tell me about this blueprint.”
    “You carved out a tiny space for yourself with swimming. Something that’s an honest reflection of who you are, something you actually enjoy doing for its own sake. Now all you have to do is make that space a little bigger. For the rest of this trip, focus on doing things just because you want to do them.”
    “And how will that help me?”
    “On the plane you said you don’t know who you are. You need to figure that out. This will help.”
    She froze for a second, and then she turned away and finished the walk to her lounge chair. She’d left a beach towel there, and now she draped it over her shoulders.
    “I pissed you off,” he said, coming up behind her. “I’m sorry.”
    She kept her back to him. “You didn’t piss me off. It’s just . . . I don’t need you to fix me. Okay?”
    He walked around to the other side of the chair so he could look her in the eyes. “Okay,” he said.
    A few seconds ticked by. Then:
    “I’m going to go back to the cottage,” she said. “Would you mind staying out here for a bit? I’d love some privacy. If you give me an hour, I’ll return the favor.”
    “Sure, I’ll stay out here for a while.” He smiled. “I hear they have a hot tub next to the bar. I’ll be fine.”
    “All right. Thanks, Ben.”
    As he watched her pack up her tote bag and go over to the spigot where you could wash the sand from your feet, he wondered what had just happened.
    There had been a genuine moment of connection.
    Jessica had seemed physically softer, as though the tension she always carried with her had lifted briefly. As though he’d found a way past her defenses.
    Then he’d pushed her too far.
    Maybe Jessica was right. Maybe he did have a savior complex.
    He shook his head slowly. He should do what he’d told her to do: focus on having a good time for the next ten days.
    It was time to visit the open-air bar and order the Bermuda rum swizzle he’d heard so much about.

C HAPTER S IX
    I t felt luxurious to have the room to herself.
    If she’d been braver, she could have come to Bermuda alone—and this beautiful suite would have been all hers. No awkwardness about sleeping arrangements . . . and nothing else she didn’t want to deal with, either.
    You said you don’t know who you are. You need to figure that out.
    But did she want to figure it out?
    She’d never wanted to before.