Hi gem faces! These next upcoming chapterishes are some of my favorites in WGD. They're sun-soaked and salty and fully immersive and someone please just get me a piña colada. For some weird reason I get major island jungle vibes here. Basically, the entire time writing I was thinking about coconuts and tigers and drunken highs, oh my. Also, I listened to Yoke Lore's Beige on repeat for 17 hours straight. Do it.
Bremmy awaits.
...
ISLAND HOPPING
Another day. Another island chain. Today's stop: The Abacos.
I now know my way around MS like the back of my hand -like the back of Brooks's hand -like I know my way around a certain something else of his.
With one last text to my parents, I tuck my cell into the side-pocket on my duffle. No need for it today. Not when everyone else I care about is two-levels up sipping on margs.
My peachy sundress enhances my tan to the tenth degree. My blonde mane is somehow still filled with salt from yesterday -despite the hour-long shower Brooks and I shared this morning.
I pull my sunnies down as I climb up to the top deck.
MS is nestled all snug in the harbor of a new cay. They're all the same, but still each one is better than the next. The water is always more turquoise and the palm trees even greener. Coconuts sweeter. You get the picture.
Only the sun stays the same.
"Can't believe we only have two days left," Meg says.
"I know. I have an extra bikini I won't get to wear," Whit says, fanning herself with the melon on the end of her fork.
"The most tragic," I hush beneath my breath. Trix grins in appreciation.
"What's on the agenda today?" Trix asks, stretching against the railing.
"Was just about to ask that. You read my mind," Meg says.
"Please no yoga," Alex jokes.
"How about anything but," Brody agrees.
"Sore yoga losers," I tease.
"Sore, yes," Brooks says, trying to squeeze my waist as I scoot by him. "But losers?"
"Hey, we could go on a run. I bet they have loads of jogging trails-" Nate starts.
"Let me stop you there," Travis laughs.
"Seriously what's with the work outs? Isn't this vacation?" Alex asks.
"You guys act like you're 100 years old," I say, crossing my arms.
"I heard about this little restaurant bar thing over on the main island," Lauren says.
"Heard about?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Well, yea," Lauren begins.
"-If Instagram could talk," Brody finishes.
"Yea yea, I'm an Instagram whore. Moving on," Lauren says with a dismissal wave.
"Moving on," I say.
"They have authentic Caribbean food and this huge organic juice bar," Lauren continues, ignoring Brody's eye roll. "Supposedly in the middle of an island jungle with waterfalls."
"Ok. Ok. We're sold," Trix chimes in.
Minutes later we are packing day totes -stuffing them full with beach towels, sunscreen, and pineapple-shaped flasks. The boys fire up the jet skis and we embark on what promises to be another sun-soaked adventure.
It's a quick and salty cruise to the nearest port. We unload the bags and walk up the strip of dock.
Right off the water is a quaint shaded main street surrounded by tall billowing palm trees. Shadows dances across the lane as we walk, offering a short reprieve from the sun.
A bicycle rental shop is our first stop. It's a spacious shop right along the water, and with bright orange umbrellas out front. The whole thing looks like it's made from driftwood. We all sign our lives away (how hard can riding a bike be?) and the cashier ushers us to the bike pen outback. We quickly make our selections, fighting for the best and most Instagrammable ones.
Trix and Travis end up with matching ones and Brooks's has a sleek obsidian frame. I end up with a violent turquoise bike with a straw basket and white wheels. It's a whole vibe.
I stick my beach bag in the front and pull out of the lot behind Brooks. Nearly two minutes later Lauren stops the group.
"Yas!" Lauren says almost instantly. "This is the place."
We pull into another shop; really, it's more of an outdoor bar shack with no sides and a thatched roof. Completely surrounded by a colorful wall of surfboards. A bleached sign is nailed above the bar, advertising juices, smoothies, and fresh acai bowls. The entire place smells like the inside of a guava.
"Look at that menu. It'll take me hours to just decide," Trix sings. She holds out the menu for me to look.
She's right. This beachside juice bar has every fruit imaginable listed on the sign. Some I've never even heard of. Not to mention a whole spread of appetizers.
"What do you guys want for food?" Travis asks us, pulling a fold-up menu from the countertop. "Jerk quesadillas? Creole bread?"
"Damn they have conch fritters," Alex says, excited.
"Love those," Nate says.
"Anything," Trix says.
"Just pick for us," I say to Brooks, shrugging. "Trix and I will wait patiently with the girls."
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