 Brought to you by Penguin You and me on vacation by Emily Henry read by Julia Whalen. I Wrote the last one mostly for me This one's for you prologue five summers ago on Vacation you can be anyone you want like a good book or an incredible outfit being on vacation Transports you into another version of yourself in your day-to-day life Maybe you can't even bob your head to the radio without being embarrassed But on the right twinkly light strong patio with the right steel drum band You'll find yourself whirling and twirling with the best of them On vacation your hair changes the water is different. Maybe the shampoo Maybe you don't bother to wash your hair at all or brush it because the salty ocean water Curls it up in a way you love you think maybe I could do this at home, too Maybe I could be this person who doesn't brush her hair who doesn't mind being sweaty or having sand in all her crevices on Vacation you strike up conversations with strangers and forget that there are any stakes if it turns out impossibly awkward Who cares you'll never see them again You're whoever you want to be you can do whatever you want Okay, so maybe not whatever you want Sometimes the weather forces you into a particular situation such as the one I'm in now And you have to find second-rate ways to entertain yourself as you wait out the rain On my way out of the bathroom. I pause Partly this is because I'm still working on my game plan Mostly though, it's because the floor is so sticky that I lose my sandal and have to hobble back for it. I Love everything about this place in theory But in practice, I think letting my barefoot touch the anonymous filth on the laminate might be a good way to Contract one of those rare diseases kept in the refrigerated vials of a secret CDC facility. I Dance hop back to my shoe slip my toes through the thin orange straps and turn to survey the bar The press of sticky bodies the lazy whorl of thatched fans overhead The door propped open so that occasionally a burst of rain rips in off the black night to cool the sweating crowd In the corner a jukebox haloed in neon light plays the flamingos. I only have eyes for you It's a resort town, but a locals bar free of printed sundresses and Tommy Bahama shirts Though also sadly lacking in cocktails garnished with spears of tropical fruit If not for the storm, I would have chosen somewhere else for my last night in town All week long the rain has been so bad the thunder so constant that my dreams of sandy white beaches and glossy Speedboats were dashed and I along with the rest of the disappointed vacationers have spent my days pounding Pina coladas in any crammed tourist trap. I could find Tonight though, I couldn't take any more dense crowds long wait times or gray-haired men in wedding rings Drunkenly winking at me over their wives shoulders Thus I found myself here In a sticky floored bar called only bar scouring the meager crowd from my target He's sitting at the corner of bars bar itself a man about my age 25 sandy-haired and tall with broad shoulders those so hunched you might not notice either of these last two facts on first glance His head is bent over his phone a look of quiet concentration visible in his profile His teeth worry at his full bottom lip as his fingers slowly swipes across the screen Though not Disney World level packed this place is loud Halfway between the jukebox crooning creepy late 50s tunes and the mounted tv opposite it from which a weatherman Shouts about record-breaking rain There's a gaggle of men with identical hacking laughs that keep bursting out all at once At the far end of the bar the bartender keeps smacking the counter for emphasis as she chats up a yellow-haired woman The storms got the whole island feeling restless and the cheap beer has everyone feeling rowdy But the sandy-haired man sitting on the corner stool has a stillness that makes him stick out Actually everything about him screams that he doesn't belong here Despite the 80s Sample complete ready to continue