... the Best Friend...

A long silence settled, heavy with the knowledge that something enormous was being wound up just out of sight. The women shifted in their seats, wiped sweat from their brows, waited.

Andy waited, too, and for once he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be at the center of anything.

The heat thickened. The shimmer on the horizon came sooner this time, almost impatient. It punched a neat hole in the tropical air, making the whole world lurch as the new arrival spilled onto the sand. Andy watched, bracing himself, half-wondering which old secret would walk through next—another ex, a vengeful Girl Scout leader, his third-grade gym teacher? The universe, apparently, had a better sense of irony than he did.

She tumbled out of the heat-warped mirage with a thud, righted herself, and immediately batted at her arms as though trying to extinguish invisible flames. She wore faded black jeans, battered Vans, and a graphic tee covered by a navy-blue apron smudged with what might have been coffee grounds, chalk, and a dab of pink lipstick. Her hair—corkscrewed, cobalt-dyed, and familiar even at a distance—was tied in a messy ponytail so typical it almost hurt. She looked around, blinking wildly, then immediately tugged her apron straight as if trying to restore order to the laws of physics by sheer will.

Sam.

Andy felt the relief before he could name it. His heart actually slowed, the frantic, adrenaline pinging in his bloodstream easing for the first time since he’d woken up in the suite. Even from across the sand, he saw the exact moment she spotted him: her entire body stilled, then her mouth widened in a grin so bright it outshone the whole beach.

She bolted up the slope toward the gazebo, waving the apron like a surrender flag. “Dude!” she called, then stopped halfway up the steps, taking in the assembled group—the Host, the women, the throne, and Andy himself. She turned in a slow circle, then laughed, low and delighted. “Okay, this is officially the weirdest coffee run of my life.”

She climbed the rest of the steps, didn’t wait for an invitation, and flopped down on the empty stool closest to Andy’s throne. For a second, she just sat, elbows on knees, breathing hard. Then she looked up at Andy, eyes shining, and said, “Nice digs, by the way.” She leaned back, scanning the scene. “So what’s the deal? Is this a billionaire’s retreat, or are we about to get murdered for our organs?”

Dawn, who had been gnawing her thumbnail, choked back a laugh. “Uh, neither? At least I think.” She glanced at Arabella, who smiled her Mona Lisa smile. “So far, it’s just… very exclusive? I guess?”

Sam looked at her, then at the others, eyes flicking from face to face. She offered Dawn a warm, professional barista smile, then gave Liesa a small nod, then Claire, then Norah and Erin—registering each with the speed of someone who had survived a thousand café lineups and could rank threat levels on sight. She turned back to Andy, raising a brow. “You want to clue me in, or is this part of your whole ‘mysterious new life’ thing?”

Andy laughed. Not a ****, brittle laugh—an actual, real laugh, the kind that left him a little lightheaded afterward. “Sam, I swear to God, I have no idea what’s going on.”

She gave him a skeptical side-eye, then turned to Arabella. “Okay, lady. Spill. Who are you? And am I getting paid for this shift, or is it more of a voluntary vacation abduction?”

Arabella, ever gracious, dipped her head. “Samantha, welcome. I’m Arabella, your Host. And no, you’re not working—this is your time to enjoy. We’re delighted you could join us. And I must admit, I admire your aplomb. It is rare for a new Contestant to be so… nonchalant. Please, have some water.”

Sam looked at the carafe and the multiplying glasses, shrugged, and poured herself a drink. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s see how deep the rabbit hole goes.” She took a slow sip, and set the glass down.

Norah’s eyes darted from Sam to Andy, assessing. “Let me guess—you two also go way back?”

Sam grinned, showing off the deep dimples that had won her a hundred free scones over the years. “Yeah. Andy’s been my partner in crime since freshman year. He owes me a small fortune in late-night pizza, and I have enough dirt on him to retire by forty.”

Erin, who had been silent since Norah’s arrival, let a smile flicker across her lips. “I remember you, Sam. You don’t say.”

Sam, sensing the tension, lifted her hands in a comic gesture of peace. “Listen, I don’t know what the rest of you signed up for, but if this is a ****-mystery party, dibs on ‘wisecracking sidekick.’”

Liesa, who had been subdued since the sniping started, managed a thin smile. “If there is ****, I want to be the detective,” she said.

Sam looked her over, approving. “Deal.” She turned to Claire, who gave her a tentative smile.

The pale blonde librarian shrugged. “I would be Watson, I suppose. I love Conan Doyle.” Sam grinned, nodding. “Fair enough.

Dawn, who had finally relaxed, said, “I used to be a hostess at the Red Robin near O’Hare. I’m not sure what my ****-mystery role is, but I can seat you if you want.”

Sam barked a laugh, loud and real. “Perfect. We’ve got the whole crew.”

The tension that had been crushing the group—every grudge, every scrap of unfinished business—suddenly broke, at least for a second. Andy felt his spine loosen; his shoulders dropped, and he was able to take a full breath. He looked over at Sam, grateful beyond words, and she winked at him.

He realized, in that moment, how much he’d missed her. Even as his life had twisted into strange shapes, even as he’d tried to build something lasting out of ashes and guilt, he’d always known that Sam would show up, crash the party, and make it make sense.

It wasn’t until the laughter faded that Andy saw the way Sam was sitting—shoulders angled, body between Andy and the rest of the group, one foot planted squarely as if to block any incoming threat. He recognized it for what it was: not bravado, but an old habit. When things got weird, Sam got between. Even if she had no idea what was coming next.

Erin, watching, said, “So you’re the bodyguard now, too?”

Sam gave a little bow. “Hey, if he’s going to be the tech titan of the season, someone’s got to keep the riffraff off his case.”

Norah’s eyes widened just a fraction, and she looked at Andy with fresh calculation. “You’re a tech titan now?”

Andy, embarrassed, shrugged. “It’s not as cool as it sounds.”

Sam snorted. “Please. I've been at your new place, Andy. You have a bidet in the bathroom. That’s not ‘normal guy’ territory anymore.” She said it with such warmth that even Norah, who had every reason to hate him, smirked in spite of herself. Not that it was true, but Sam always knew how to make him look good, and truth was only one weapon in her ever-growing arsenal.

Arabella clapped her hands, drawing the attention back to herself. “I am delighted to see such camaraderie forming already,” she said. “You may find it valuable in the days to come. There is much to explore—and, yes, much to learn. But first, please, enjoy each other’s company, and the Master’s while we wait for the last two Contestants.”

Andy looked at Sam, who was squinting at Arabella with the skepticism of someone who had been burned by one too many MLM schemes. Then Sam grinned and leaned in close. “Okay, I assume you’re the ‘Master’, given the monstrosity you’re sitting on,” she whispered. “But are we waiting for the rest of your old girlfriends to show up, or is this everyone? What’s our play?”

Sam looked at Andy again, softer now, and her voice lowered. “Seriously, you okay? You look like you’ve been awake for a week straight.”

He started to answer, but the words caught. He let his shoulders drop, let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he said, “I am now.”

He looked at the group—every face now turned toward him, whether with suspicion, hope, or cautious amusement—and for the first time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could handle it. Or at least, give the impression of doing so. He said, “Let’s start by surviving the orientation. After that, we improvise.”

Sam lifted her glass in salute. “I’ll drink to that.”

Liesa leaned in. “I, too.”

Dawn echoed, “Cheers.”

Claire looked at the others, then quietly raised her own glass.

Norah and Erin, the skeptics, glowered.

Something subtle changed in the group then. The tension didn’t vanish, but it redistributed—settled into something more manageable, a discomfort that could be shared instead of shouldered alone. Sam’s presence, her easy irreverence, shifted the center of gravity. Where before Andy had felt the weight of judgment, now he felt a buffer. Someone in his corner, someone who’d stand between him and whatever was coming next.

Dawn looked at Sam, then at Andy, and whispered, “She’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Andy agreed. “She really is.”

Arabella watched it all unfold, her expression serene but her eyes alive with amusement. “I do enjoy watching a group take shape,” she said, as if to herself. Then, more loudly: “You’re all adapting so quickly. It bodes well for the next phase.”

Sam raised a hand. “So, when does the cabana boy bring us drinks, or is that only on weekends?”

Arabella gave her a slow, approving nod, then glanced at the two remaining empty stools still waiting in the semicircle. “Soon, Ms. Collins. But first, we must complete the circle.”

Andy followed Arabella’s gaze. Two empty seats. Two more arrivals, two more stories to be thrown at him, two more tests of whatever this was turning out to be. But with Sam at his side… anchored, brash, unmovable… he felt like he might actually survive it. He glanced at her, saw her watching him, and for the first time since waking up in paradise, he felt relieved. It wasn’t bravado, wasn’t armor. But it was genuine, and it was enough. He leaned back, let the sun hit his face, and waited for the world to upend itself again.