Estimated reading time — 2 minutes
On the last night of my honeymoon, my husband Ricky and I were soaking in the beach resort’s outdoor hot tub. It was December, you see, and there were maybe only five rooms occupied in the whole resort. Although the fire pit was burning hot and bright one lot over, no one but us was outside. My new husband and I felt ballsy and awesome and grown-up for braving the near-freezing temperature to relax in the hot tub.
“This is so deluxe,” I said on a long sigh. I sat against a jet and let it pummel my lower back.
“I know,” said Ricky, stretching his arms out behind us and craning his head toward the sky. “You can see every star up there. You don’t see that in the city.”
A gust blew over the hot tub and whirled the steam around, creating mini tornados. On the other side of the dunes behind us the ocean slammed against the shore and hissed as it receded. I smiled, blissful.
“Our friends are going to be so jealous when we tell them about this,” I said. “I wish we could get a picture of us in this thing so I could post it on Facebook.”
“Yeah, yeah,” was Ricky’s absent-minded reply. “But we don’t have our camera or our phones or anything out here with us though, so…” My husband didn’t care to show off like I did.
“Yeah.” I sat silent for a moment. “I might run back to the room really quick to get my phone.”
“No. Nope.” He put a hand on my arm. “We’re on our honeymoon. Not to mention a much-needed vacation. We promised we were going to cut ourselves off from the world for the week, didn’t we?”
“Meh,” I said in weak agreement.
“Right. Let our friends use their imaginations when we tell them about it. And let us enjoy this moment. We’ll only go on our honeymoon once.”
I sighed and sat back against his outstretched arm. “All right. Right. You’re right.” I closed my eyes. We stayed out there, not talking, until the timer for the jets went off, and then we scurried back into the warm beacon of our building.
The next morning, after we’d been awake for a while, Ricky noticed something square poking in under our door. Thinking it was the bill of the balance for our stay, he went over to retrieve it.
“What’s the damage?” I called over. He didn’t respond for several minutes. “That bad, huh?” I asked, grinning.
He turned and walked over to me. His expression was disturbed and he had gone pale.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
He was holding a Polaroid picture of us from the night before. On the white part at the bottom, scrawled in black Sharpie, were the words HERE YOU GO.
It was taken from behind.
Credit To – bjorenov814