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tilts his head and lets the grin fall to a serious gaze.
    “To the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I’m thankful every day that you said yes.”
    Wow. He went for awesome sweet thankful toast. I’m an ass. Her heart, now lodged in her throat, races as she feels eyes at their group table watching their tearful stare. She takes a brief ceremonial sip before leaning over to take his trembling lips to hers. She feels how open he is and wants to crawl inside him. In the effort to keep it PG for the guests, she pulls away, noting their life reflected in his faint smile.
    She closes her eyes remembering the frail troubled teenage boy who struggled to feel alive, who wrote poetry in secret, and didn’t mind juvi because it gave him time to read. She remembers the angry twenty year old addict and gang member she left behind for college, afraid he’d take a life if not his own. That young man she left to find his own way shocked her by pulling himself out of that neighborhood and the drugs. He is in her arms and her life for so many reasons, but above all it’s an undying love.
    “I want another toast,” she whispers to him. He turns his head down slightly to find her eyes and waits for her. “To the love of my life.” She holds her glass close between them in a private moment. “You’ve had to go through so much to get here, and I’m inspired by you every day. You’ve taught me never to give up, no matter how hard I’ve tried to screw it up. Thank you for not giving up on me.” His eyes shy into her, trying to conceal full tears now running down their cheeks.
    They can’t help but laugh at themselves and scoot their chairs closer as the show begins. Their fingers are intertwined through the whole night, even juggling forks and glasses one handed, wanting to remain one. By the time they walk into their room a little tipsy and tired, their pace is slow and steady. They undress each other gently, thankful for every vulnerable inch, and make love like it’s the first time, with a nervous hesitance, neither wanting to be greedy or rushed.
    The sound of the calming waves lapping through the screen door makes Monica feel so connected to him and the island. She feels so at peace in his arms as he gently rocks inside her. She strokes his firm backside just as she feels his release, knowing he loves the tickle on his sensitive skin. They fade into the white noise washing ashore with their jet-lagged limbs twisted around each other.

 
     
     
     
    November 25th - Friday
     
     
    The time difference on the island meant waking up before dawn as the birds start singing. The alcohol left her head a little groggy, but Monica couldn’t resist the urge to see the sunrise. She squeezes into her sports bra and laces up her running shoes before tiptoeing out the door.
    “Have a good run,” Alex mumbles as the door clicks shut.
    She makes her way down to the ground floor, past the lush atrium garden still glowing from the lanterns sprinkled along the paths. There are only a couple of employees preparing for the day, each surprised by her presence. Monica resets the time on her Garmin, hits play on her iPod, and takes off into the last darkness.
    The path winds around the pool towards the ocean and heads south. Each drag of humid air drains her enthusiasm up the steep hill that climbs away from the resort. The path opens to a public parking lot where a couple of early adventurers and surfers are unloading and stretching. She keeps going up Makena Road past acres of slumbering construction equipment and orange cones that plague this part of the island. The sky was lifting while the beats of 311’s “Amber” eases the burn to a steady pace.
    The two lane road narrows through dry brush and patches of lava rock. The occasional wave from a passing work truck or pick-up packed with surfboards makes her feel less like a tourist. After a mile and a half a string of mansions surrounded by grand stone walls and ornate sculptural gates