Part Three: Happy Honeymoon

They have an early call time the next morning, which pairs delightfully with the unlimited cocktails from the night prior. But they are due at the beach for the first of two excursions they'll be filming today. So they drag themselves out of bed, wordlessly navigating around each other as they ready themselves for the day.

Lucy doesn't know much about what's on the docket for the day, only that it will involve the beach and that they have been instructed to wear clothing that will be comfortable for physical activity. So she dons one of her sportier swimsuits underneath a pair of running shorts and a tank top. She exits the bathroom as soon as she's done changing, trying to be considerate in case Tim is waiting to use it, and pauses in front of the mirror on the back of the door to pull her waves back into a high ponytail. She can see Tim bent over his suitcase behind her in the reflection. He straightens once he locates whatever he had been looking for, and Lucy has to stop herself from snorting out loud when he immediately and shamelessly checks out her ass.

It doesn't take him long to realize the geometry of it all, and when he meets Lucy's eyes in the mirror, he is most definitely tinging a little pink. She purses her lips together to hold back her laughter and teasingly wiggles her eyebrows at him through the mirror. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head even as he continues to redden, before making a beeline into the bathroom to escape his embarrassment and her self-satisfied gaze.


They grab a quick breakfast, and Lucy is getting pretty excited about their first excursion. Before arriving, they'd been given a long list filled with absolutely amazing options for their daytime activities and had been asked to rank the options in order of preference.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm disappears when they arrive at the beach. Lucy takes in the setup; looks like they are in for an afternoon of beach volleyball. Fantastic. She had ranked the beach volleyball tournament dead last on her list, her dislike for the sport so intense that it had even edged spelunking into the penultimate position.

She should have known better. These reality TV assholes. Unless…

Lucy turns accusing eyes toward Tim. "Where did you rank volleyball on your list?"

Tim shrugs, arching an eyebrow to indicate he is none too pleased with her tone. "I don't know… second or third maybe?"

Her jaw drops. "You ranked volleyball second or third on a list of things that included kayaking and jet skiing and whale watching and stand-up paddle boarding and parasailing and actual sailing and an afternoon on a yacht and a picnic on a private island and goat yoga —" She pauses to suck in a breath and Tim holds up a hand to stop her tirade before she continues. There were like fifty things on that list.

"First of all, goat yoga sounds awful. Second, I'm not a fan of the ocean. Third, I happen to like volleyball. Sue me."

Lucy stares at him like he has spontaneously sprouted a few extra heads. "You're not a fan of one of nature's greatest gifts?" she asks in disbelief. She holds up a hand to stop him before he responds. "More importantly, you actually like volleyball?"


Being vertically challenged certainly isn't an advantage in this particular sport. But Tim has to admit she plays with a lot of heart. And something about watching her dive face first into the sand over and over again, only to completely miss the ball every time makes him respect her a little more.

It also makes him laugh. A lot. On her first few attempts, he'd at least attempted to swallow back his guffawing, but, at this point, he's given up entirely and has cracked up more in this one morning than he probably has in the last few months combined.

Lucy glowers and huffs and grumbles in response to his ridicule, but she doesn't once quit on him. And that's not nothing.

It's a long morning that extends well into the afternoon. Even despite his partner's limited skill, Tim is far too competitive to not play to win against the other couples, who [shockingly] are not nearly as invested in the outcome of the tournament. And so they continue, round after round of Tim securing the high of a victory and Lucy securing a face full of sand.

They are in the final round when she takes another failed dive. Tim gracefully hops over her body to return the ball in what ultimately turns out to be the game-winning point.

Lucy flops over onto her back and stares up at the sky. He waits for her to hop up with that seemingly endless supply of pep that has somehow been present all morning, despite her intense dislike for the sport.

He stares curiously down at her. She continues to gaze wordlessly up at the clouds. He nudges her side with his toe. She frowns.

"You are really not good at this," he observes helpfully.

And for a moment when she doesn't react, Tim wonders if she might be in some kind of concussed state that can only result from repeated nosedives into the sand.

But then she lets out a miserable laugh. "I know. I told you. I swear to god — I am good at a lot of things. Volleyball just isn't one of them."

"Uh huh," he looks at her skeptically. "I bet. How humble of you."

He extends his hand down to help her up and she huffs an exaggerated sigh before accepting it, but she's apparently not prepared for the ease and swiftness with which Tim pulls her upright because she immediately stumbles forward into him.

Tim chuckles. "Is standing upright not one of the things you're good at either?" he teases as he steadies her against his chest.

And maybe he doesn't entirely hate the way she feels pressed up against him… How is she so soft in all of the right places? And how the hell does she still smell so good after hours of volleyball under the blazing sun?

She rolls her eyes as she steps back, but her smile is wide and her eyes are shining with laughter. And what is it about her happiness that always seems like an invitation?

Lucy begins the arduous process of brushing sand off of every single extremity while Tim crosses the court to grab them some refreshments.

He extends a sports drink out to her, and then stares awkwardly down at her for a few moments as if he's debating whether to say something.

"What?" Lucy asks after she's chugged a good quarter of the bottle.

"Uh…" Tim claps her awkwardly on her upper arm, "I just wanted to say, good work today. Well, not at the volleyball, obviously, but you know — for being a good sport or whatever…"

Lucy stares up at him in wide-eyed surprise. Her lips begin to twitch and her shoulders begin to shake as she attempts (and fails) to hold back the laughter threatening to burst out of her.

Tim glowers, "Fine. Whatever. I was trying to be nice."

"Right, right… sorry — okay. Well, thanks, Coach!" Lucy attempts to salute, even as she is doubling over as another wave of giggles overtakes her.


Karma comes calling for Tim when they arrive at their second activity for the day.

He glares at Lucy, "Tell me you didn't rank this in your top 10."

Lucy laughs nervously, shrugging noncommittally.

"Lucy," Tim warns.

"Um, you know. I'm not sure. I can't really remember." She lifts her hands in what she hopes is a convincing gesture of her cluelessness.

He nails her with his most intimidating TO 'miss me with your bullshit' stare. "How high?" he demands.

"Well… maybe… it might have been…" Lucy turns her head and covers her mouth with a hand before finally mumbling, "...first."

Tim's eyes bug out, "What?! Are you kidding me?"

"What? I happen to love yoga. And goats. Sue me," she imitates mockingly.

He shakes his head. "I cannot believe you. We could be on a yacht right now."

Lucy places her hands on her hips and glares back at him, "Right. This is definitely all my fault, Mr. "Volleyball is Life". I hope your little trophy was worth missing out on a once in a lifetime opportunity to — to —" she pauses, scrunching her face in a way that is so damn adorable Tim is almost tempted to forgive her for this atrocity. "Uh…" she lifts a finger in the air in an almost cartoonish Eureka gesture, "To snorkel with turtles… yeah!"

He's already opening his mouth to respond but stops short once he processes her words. "A once in a lifetime opportunity to what?" he finally somehow manages with a straight face.

"Ugh — whatever. Shut up, Tim. You know what I mean. You took yacht, okay? And I happen to like turtles. Thank you very much."

"Uh huh," Tim says, before simply shaking his head with perplexed amusement. She is really damn cute when she's all feisty and indignant like this.


Goat yoga is somehow even worse than Tim possibly could have imagined. Not even the much-appreciated view of Lucy's back end (sans traitorous mirror) as she practices in front of him is enough to make up for how awful it is.

He learns that, apparently, his new wife is some kind of goat whisperer, because the animals seem to be taking turns approaching her, each waiting for their opportunity to gently butt up against her and receive a few loving pets as she coos ridiculous things at them between positions.

At one point she drops down on her knees to dote on a baby goat. "You're so freaking cute! I think I'm going to call you Gerald." Which, okay, even Tim has to admit the little guy is pretty damn cute. But is she — he strains to hear — and yes, she is, in fact, making quiet, adoring goat noises to the little guy.

And — as if whatever the hell kind of strange Disney princess talking to animals thing that is going on in front of him isn't enough — every time, without fail, once the goat has had its fill of adoration from Princess Lucy, it ventures back to eye Tim with open and unadulterated hostility before dropping a pile of steaming shit on or near his mat.

And when even the tiny ball of fluff follows suit, Tim gazes down at him with wounded eyes. "Et tu, Gerald?"

He's about as skilled at yoga as Lucy is at volleyball, so when he manages to fall out of some ridiculous position that has something to do with a tree and stumble right into a still warm pile of excrement — well, he's had just about enough, uttering a string of curse words as he stalks off to deal with his shit-covered foot. It's all very, very zen.


That night is their first "private" dinner that of course is only as private as a meal filmed for a TV audience can be. A romantic, candlelit dinner for two plus crew on the beach. Tim is obviously ecstatic about getting sand in his food and having to make forced heart eyes and pointless conversation all night.

At least when they're filming the excursions and activities they have something to do. He's quickly figuring out that these one-on-one romantic setups are his least favorite thing to film. Tonight there will be nothing to do other than eat… and talk. Sigh.

But when Lucy emerges from the bathroom in an off-the-shoulder wrap dress that skims the floor — well, it seems like the heart eyes are going to take of themselves.

His gaze travels up the length of her exposed leg as she wiggles her foot into one of her heels, too dumbfounded to even point out how impractical her footwear is for walking on the beach.

She manages to get her other shoe on and then lifts her eyes to Tim's, tilting her head in a way that sends her waves tumbling over her shoulder. And for the millionth time, he can't get over how beautiful she is.

"Ready?"

He nods, clearing his throat, "As ready as I can be."


Apparently, she has a thing for forearms. Lucy discovers this on their walk to dinner. Given her precarious choice in footwear, she keeps her gaze downward for most of the walk to ensure she doesn't trip on one of the many, many loose planks or gaps in the path along the way. How had she never noticed how rickety this damn beach path was before?

He's cuffed the sleeves of his button-down almost up to his elbows, and Lucy's eyes seem to have a mind of their own, continuously wandering from the path to the exposed skin of his tanned forearm and then back again. Definitely not imagining that very forearm straining to pin her hips to bed as he — Nope. No. Definitely not.

Dinner is awkward at first. They both focus on their food (and wine), stealing glances at one another but quickly looking away when caught in the act.

By the time they are halfway through their scheduled time to film their date, production has clearly had their fill of filming their silent meal. A PA walks over with a fish bowl full of small folded sheets of paper. "Take turns asking each other questions," she instructs.

Lucy can't help but smile and Tim laughs uncomfortably as their eyes finally meet.

Tim gestures to the bowl, even as he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Ladies first."

"Okay," Lucy takes a sip of her wine before reaching in for a slip of paper, "Let's see what we've got…" She glances back up at Tim once she has it unfolded, "What's your biggest pet peeve?"

Tim groans, and Lucy just raises her eyebrows tauntingly as she waits. He frowns, and somehow Lucy just knows that this man has an inordinate number of pet peeves to choose from.

"Eating in bed — well, really eating anywhere that's not the kitchen or dining room. In general, I'm just big on things being where they belong. And crumbs don't belong in the bed," Tim asserts.

"Got it," Lucy nods. "I will leave all future crumbs in the kitchen for you going forward."

Tim narrows his eyes in a mock glare. She's maybe starting to have a little too much fun trying to push his buttons.

"Your turn," he declares, ready to get out of the hot seat.

He pulls a piece of paper from the container. "Tell me about the first time you were in love."

Oh come on — Tim gets a question about pet peeves and she gets stuck with this. There is no justice in this world.

Lucy frowns, trying to think of the best way to answer that. Tim is studying her and the longer she waits to respond, the more his gaze is starting to look like the harshly critical one from their wedding night. Like he's already decided her answer isn't going to be good enough.

Well, may as well just be honest then.

"I haven't — been in love, I mean," she says simply. His brow furrows slightly, and he waits a few beats to see if she'll expand. She doesn't.

"You have been in a serious relationship before, though, right? You've never even thought you were in love?"

Lucy's surprised by the question. Because despite the judgy expression on his face, he seems to genuinely want to know.

"Um — I mean, I've been in long-term relationships before, but if I'm being honest then… yeah, no — none that were ever actually that serious. So the answer is still no."

Something flickers in his gaze and for a moment Lucy thinks he looks almost disappointed.

And it bothers her. She hates being made to feel like she doesn't measure up. Especially on something like this. It's not like she didn't want to fall in love; she showed up here, did she not? She feels compelled to defend herself.

"I mean — it's not like I didn't deeply care about the people I was with. But they were mostly relationships that made sense at the time — college, grad school, my internship. And when those things ended, I guess they just stopped making sense." Lucy shrugs.

Tim arches a brow.

"What?"

"You know what they say about getting involved with someone you work with, right?"

"I can guess, but why don't you enlighten me."

"Don't shit where you eat," Tim states crudely.

Lucy rolls her eyes. "You're one to talk — wasn't your wife a cop?"

And the minute the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. She knows very little about Tim's previous marriage beyond a few tidbits she had picked up on their wedding night. Just that it ended (Tim) and that it ended badly (Genny) and that she was a cop (Angela). But she has the overwhelming sense that it's a topic that's off-limits.

And what the heck is she even supposed to call her? First wife? Ex-wife? She doesn't even know her actual name. She was not properly prepared on the etiquette required here. She makes a mental note to google 'marrying a divorced man you've never met and what to call his previous wife' later.

Surprisingly, Tim just shrugs. "Doesn't count. She was in a different division. What's next?"

Lucy draws another prompt, "Why do you think we were matched?"

Tim takes a sip of wine as he mulls the question over.

"Probably because somebody thought I needed your sunshine to level out my grumpy."

Lucy laughs, assuming that's all she's going to get.

But then Tim meets her eyes and continues, "Being around you — it, uh, I don't hate it. Sometimes it even kind of — it makes me happy."

And it's maybe the absolute last thing she had expected him to say. And for a minute she feels like the Grinch, her heart (at least the very small part reserved for this man) growing three sizes. Her eyes even get a little misty.

Tim groans, "Lucy, I swear to god, if you cry, I'm never going to say anything nice to you ever again. And don't let it get to your head. The fact that we're in paradise doesn't hurt either."

"Uh huh," she teases. She laughs and shakes her head as Tim lifts his wine glass to his lips and reaches to pull the next question.

His eyes go wide and he chokes on his wine as he scans the small slip of paper. Coughing and clearing his throat a few times before meeting Lucy's bemused gaze.

And this time, there's something a little less flustered and a little more predatory in his gaze. It sends an unexpected shiver down her spine. She takes a long swig of her wine; she has a feeling she's going to need it.

"How important is it to you to have an emotional connection before having sex?"

Lucy arches an eyebrow but considers the question briefly. She looks Tim straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering when she responds. "It's nice, but uh — it's not strictly required."

Their eyes stay locked on each other's, and neither of them is seriously considering the possibility of seven and a half weeks of no strings attached sex. They definitely are not.

Tim finally nods, tugging at his collar, "Fair enough."

She grabs the next slip of paper.

And this time it's Lucy's turn to choke — on literally nothing other than her own spit. But holy shit. Her cheeks flush as she meets Tim's curious gaze and reads the question aloud. "If I wanted to turn you on, what would I have to do? What would I have to wear?"

Tim sucks in a breath, his eyebrows shooting upward as he processes the question. His eyes flick over to the camera before he leans across the table toward her. His voice is low and throaty and his gaze is searing. "I think you've already got that covered, Lucy."

And it's like her entire body is tingling all at once, and then like that entire sensation concentrates in her core before swooshing down to settle in between her legs.

A cocky half smile appears on his face as he settles back into his chair. "I did like those little shorts you were wearing today, though."

They decide to skip dessert.


Cognizant of her footwear and the fact that it's now nearly pitch black outside, Tim reaches back to guide her when they approach the first dip on the path back to their bungalow. She slides her hand into his with a grateful smile, fully expecting he'll pull away as soon as she's cleared the obstacle. But he doesn't. Instead, he closes his hand around hers in a way that creates a blooming warmth in her core.

They wordlessly allow their fingers to twine together as they walk, and, good lord, since when was hand holding so damn sexy? But it is. Everything about it.

The way his long, capable fingers feel wrapped around her own. The way he automatically adjusts his stride so she can keep pace. The way he steps ahead to make sure she doesn't trip over an uneven part of the path or get her heel caught between planks. The way he locks his arm to keep her safely behind him until he can guide her through the hazard.

It's so dark that she inevitably runs into him every time he reaches back to stop her and the way the muscles of his upper arm feel pressed against her chest… she has to remind herself to keep breathing.

And when her free hand comes forward and grips his forearm to steady herself, so what if she lets it linger a little longer each time? So what if she lazily trails her fingers up the inside of his arm before finally releasing him — simply because she loves the way his skin prickles in response to her touch, the way his muscles tense just enough for her to know that he feels it, too. The relentless pull between them intensifying until she can practically hear it begging for release.

So what if by the time they make it back to the bungalow she's stopped letting go all together, unapologetically claiming his whole damn arm for herself? Doesn't let go even as he chuckles, trying to dig the key to their room out of his pocket? Doesn't let go until he turns the tables, sliding the arm she's taken hostage easily around her waist and pulling her around in front of him until she is trapped between him and the door.

She tilts her head back to look up at him, and she knows it must be written all over her face. How much she wants him to kiss her.

There's a flash of uncontrolled heat in his eyes and his gaze shifts to her lips. And there is practically no space left between them as he leans into her. She sucks in a breath, tipping her head back the slightest bit further as her eyes flutter closed, certain that he is going to —

Take a gigantic step backward and leave her hanging out to dry. Of course he would.

Her eyes fly open to see that Tim has already made it to the deck balcony, his back to her as he gazes out over the blackness that is the ocean.

A mix of aggravation and frustration rises in her throat; she has never met a man who runs as hot as cold as he does. It doesn't take much to know this isn't going to be a ride that ends well for her, so why does she even want this jerk to kiss her?

Maybe because there had been more than just sexual tension building between them on their walk back. He'd been so attentive and protective toward her, had made her feel so taken care of and safe. And yes, of course, she could have made the walk home just fine on her own. And of course, she didn't come here looking for some man to rescue or protect her.

But it's a side of him she hadn't seen. A side of him that filled her with a sensation of warmth and security so perfect she could absolutely see herself craving it for the rest of her damn life.

Too bad it's suddenly so cold out here.