Part Five

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“Captains log. Sea Date Five Zero Zero. The cruise ship could sink right now and I’d die happy. No, I haven’t told her. Yes. I will. Today in Mazatlan. Land of Mazats? The place where dreams come true. That kiss… that kiss was…”

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I shocked Grace Helbig into silence. Didn’t think it was actually possible. For the entire rest of the pirate cruise and boarding our own ship at the Port of Call, she was unusually silent.

That of course lent itself to a massive dose of internal remorse about what I’d done. Maybe I should have told her first then kissed her. Leave it to me to get it backwards. I spent the whole, quiet afternoon torturing myself with horrible random thoughts about what was going on inside her mind. It was as if my kiss stole her sunshine and brought on a strange sort of calm before the storm. I wasn’t about to add fuel to a fire I couldn’t be sure was there so when I delivered her to her room that night, I’d simply told her I had a great time, plank included and said goodnight like a chickenshit rather than get the words out. She said a prompt goodbye and slipped inside her room.

I must have asked her a thousand times that afternoon if she was okay. “Yes,” she’d said, “I’m good.”

Me other the other hand—despite my inner self-loathing, I was in my own personal Nirvana. A complete and utter euphoric feeling that no one could ever take from me—no one except her if she were to tell me she doesn’t feel the same way.

But hey, today’s a new day and I’m not going to start it by thinking the very worst. Things are about to change for Grace and I; it’s inevitable.

I shower and dress before knocking on her door.

She answers fresh faced and armed with her camera pointed directly at me. “The Chester See. Kiss Stealer.”

I smirk and say as confidently as I can, “The Grace Helbig, who doth not protest my fiendish ways.”

She doesn’t reply. She simply awards me with that megawatt grin.

“Mazatlan. Stone Island today,” I say, “Are you excited?”

She spins the camera around to get herself in the frame. “Am I excited to have my feet on solid ground for a full day? Most definitely. Am I excited to go to a big, beautiful beach? Most definitely. Am I excited to spend the day with Kiss Stealing Chester See? Most definitely.”

She locks up her room and once again, we are herded like human cattle off of the ship to the waiting tour buses below. It’s chaotic and disorganized. If Barun were here, I bet there would be a lot less confusion. Grace boards one of the buses for Stone Island while I’m stopped by a local with several handmade beaded necklaces draped across his hand and the length of his arm. 

“A pretty necklace for the pretty lady?”

I buy a necklace for five bucks, figuring I’ll give it to Grace as a little souvenir. I put the thing in my pocket, eager to get to her and probe for more information on her casual ‘Kiss Stealer’ reference. 

When I get on the bus, I’m horrified to discover the seat next to Grace is occupied by none other than the black haired groupie from the elevator.

Her face is beaming, like she’s just met a presidential candidate rather than an internet sensation.

Grace smiles politely and nods at whatever the girl is saying. I sit down in front of them, a little begrudged that I’m not beside her when she speaks up. “Chester this is Holly. Holly. Chester.”

“We met,” Holly says. “Sort of.”

I turn my body enough to see them. “Holly, good to see you again.”

“You too,” she says. Her tone is clipped as if I am merely an irritation, a buzzing mosquito determined to suck the life out of her fun. 

The entire drive to Stone Island, I am unable to hear the driver explaining points of interest because Holly is bound and determined to pick Grace’s brain for tips on how to be a social media celebrity. Apparently it’s her ‘life’s goal.’

Grace is kind enough to humour her and answers each question but as she answers, her voice is laced with a mixture of disappointment and weariness. I suspect or at least hope it’s because she wants to be seated next to me and not talking about work.

The bonus is that I lose track of the time while I’m sucked into the vortex of Holly’s endless round of questioning. I’m not so sure she stops speaking long enough to catch her breath. She might make a good vlogger after all.

What’s going through that beautiful mind of yours Grace?

Finally, when I think I am about to lose my cool, the bumpy bus ride comes to a stop.

“Here we are, Stone Island!” the driver proclaims.

We disembark and the second Grace steps out behind me, I grab her hand and haul her a few feet away.

I pause. “Hear that? The beautiful sound of nothing. That was a bit much.”

She shrugs. “She seems nice enough but yeah, she’s a little intense.”

“C’mon me beauty, there is a day of sand, sun and drinks waiting for us.” I dare a glance behind, fearing I will see Holly on our heels but I don’t.

The beach at Stone Island is breathtaking. Smooth sand with palm trees scattered every few feet with hatched palapas in between. I secure one, tossing my bag down and point to the bar. “Drink?”

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” Grace says. She removes her t-shirt and shorts to reveal a black bikini. It’s not like I’ve never seen her in swimwear before but every single time it startles me. I love seeing the curves of her body exposed, the flawless look of tanned skin. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her.

“I’ll just uh, get us a drink.” I have to force myself to look away.

Grace leans back, stretches out on the chair and smiles. “Thank you.”

“When I get back, we need to talk.”

She straightens her body and sits upright again. “Is everything okay?”

“Never been better,” I say. “I just want to talk to you is all.”

She considers my words momentarily before laying back down. “As long as you’re okay.”

“I’m great. Don’t worry about me.”

There’s a line up at the bar so I wait patiently and try to gather my wits about me. We’re alone in a beautiful country with nothing but the sand and our future in front of us. No people. No cameras. No pressure. I repeat this mantra in my head until a bartender snapping his fingers demands my attention.

“What’ll it be?” His English is near perfect.

“Two margaritas, please.”

He goes to work making the drinks. As they’re whirling around the blender he swipes the bamboo bar with a cloth and looks at me. “You alright hombre? You look sick.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m about to tell the girl of my dreams that she’s the girl of my dreams.”

“Ahh,” he nods then extends a pointer finger in my direction. “I’ll make yours a double.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He finishes the drinks and hands them to me. “Mexico is a magic place,” he says assuredly, “try not to worry.”

“Thanks.” I try to pay for the drinks but he shakes his head. “Included in your excursion.” I hand him the money as a tip instead and suck in one final breath of air, imagining that it’s infused with courage.

I return to our palapa only to discover Holly has taken my seat for the second time that day.

“Holly’s here!” Graces feigns enthusiasm.

“Great,” I mutter.

I hand my double drink to Grace and notice Holly looking up at me expectantly. I’ve never fake smiled so hard in my life as I offer her the other drink.

“Oh Chester, that’s so nice of you,” she says. Her voice drips with sticky sweetness that is totally insincere. Seems Holly finds me a disruption as much as I do her.

I grab my bag, which has been tossed on the sand and point to the bar. “I’ll be right over there.” 

Holly - 1

Chester - 0

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“Captains log. Seadate Five zero zero. I am beginning to think the Universe is staging an intervention. I am beginning to think that the world is out to seek and destroy my plan of ever making Grace mine. I located my balls, found the courage to tell her but was horribly and unjustly deprived of the opportunity thanks to one Holly Wood. I wish that last part was a joke. It’s not. She changed her name when she moved to LA because she thought she’d be able to hit the big time. I’m thinking she has a career alright, as some kind of star… maybe not the type she’s aiming for though. If this doesn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll give up. Every attempt I’ve made on this trip, something stop me. Tomorrow, come hell or high water my cards go on the table. If I fail, I fold and you win, cruel, cruel world! I will return eternally single, forever miserable and Grace will be that girl I kissed one time, the girl that got away.”

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Cabo San Lucas is in a league all itself. A real party city and much to my undeniable delight, there is no Holly Wood on our bus. In fact, no one seems to recognize us at all. The Universe has decided to grant me this one small favour. Grace told me that her afternoon with Holly was enjoyable. I think she’s lying because she’s too damned nice to say otherwise.

We arrive at the salsa place and are greeted by an oversized, cheery Mexican man in a chef’s uniform with an impressive moustache that curls at the end.

I lean into Grace and whisper, “Contain yourself. He’s a man in uniform.”

“You should grow a ‘stache like that Chester. Then we could take topless pictures of you and post them online.”

“It was one time.”

“Oh,” she says grinning, “it needs to be so much more than that.”

Our full busload is outfitted with aprons and chef hats of our own. Long tables are set up each complete with fresh tomatoes, avocados, onions, cilantro, fruit and bottles of tequila. There are knives and cutting boards and blenders.

“Okay okay,” the chef says. “We’re going to learn to make salsa and drink tequila and then,” he pauses before clapping his hands together, “we dance. Or maybe we will drink tequila and dance while we make salsa.” He holds a bottle to his mouth and takes a long swig of the stuff—straight. “I never remember.”

We all laugh.

“My liver is going to need a vacation from this vacation,” Grace mumbles.

“It’s almost Sunday,” I tell her.

“Some would say God’s day,” she says, “a day of rest.”

“Yeah, some would say that.”

A couple from our bus squeezes in beside us. It only forces me closer to her. Not going to complain about that.

“Okay, first things first,” the chef says. “We dice tomato and onion. If you don’t know how to dice them, hopefully someone here does.” He drinks again.

“I’m pretty sure it’s all an act and he’s downing water in a tequila bottle,” I say. “They wouldn’t employ a legit drunk chef.”

We both laugh because Hannah comes to mind.

 “Hannah could do a show from Mexico. God! She should be here.”

Hannah unfortunately had to opt out due to other commitments but Grace is right, this trip would have been so much fun with her along.

“Dice your onion and tomato,” the Chef directs.

I grab a few tomatoes and start slicing them with precision while Grace selects an onion. As she brings her knife down on it, tears fill her eyes and begin to roll down her face.

“They say the fresher the onion, the more pungent it will be.”

“They must have pulled this one from the ground this morning.” She continues to dice through her tears until I hear her curse. She drops the knife and brings the tip of her finger to her mouth. “Damn it! This is dangerous!”

I immediately stop cutting my tomato and remove her finger from her mouth to inspect the damage. It’s hardly more than a papercut, it’s not even bleeding much. “It’s a flesh wound,” I tell her. “I think you can keep your extremity. No amputation is required.”

“Thank God for that.” She smiles and lowers her voice. “Chester, can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I don’t want to make salsa. I don’t want to drink tequila. I don’t want to talk to Holly Wood. I just want to spend the day with you.”

The Universe is on my side! I want to do a friggin’ backflip at this sudden turn of events.

I hold the palm of her hand in mine and run my thumb along the inside. “Then let’s not make salsa or dance salsa. Let’s not talk to anyone, let’s disappear together.”

“Until 6:00 PM,” she clarifies, “when we have to get back on the ship or we’ll be stuck in Mexico forever.”

“I could think of worse things.”  I look at my watch. “We still have four hours.” I clear my throat and hide the nearly non-existent wound with my hand before speaking up. “We should go have this looked at. She cut herself,” I tell the chef.

“She should drink more tequila,” he says. “There is a medic on the second floor.”

“Great. Thanks.” I tug Grace along and make like we’re going to the medic, instead veering left and out the exit at the last minute.

“You never cease to amaze me,” she says when we’re outside.

I want to tell her that it’s the same for me. That everything she does is amazing. So here we stand, outside a salsa place in Cabo and I’m about to play my hand. The only question left is do I have a full house or will I have to fold?

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