My butt sinks into the dark blue thickly woven blanket covering us from the sand and I slip off my flip-flops before I lift my feet onto the blanket. The blanket is similar to the one I used last night. The one that's sprawled across my bed back in the room. The one I'll be discreetly packing with the rest of my stuff unless Trey asks for it back outright. Even then there's a chance he'll have to rip it from my fingers. Apparently vacation Simone is sentimental. Who knew?
"Order anything you want." Trey passes a long thin laminated menu to me from his place on the blanket while he looks over his own.
The selections are for lunch at one of the resort restaurants. There aren't prices on the sheet, but I remember the name, The Sea Shell, as one of the higher end options from the brochure.
