It's exactly one month into the trip when I wake up and feel ... relaxed. The last filaments of some pleasant dream melt away as I open my eyes, gazing up at the ceiling fan, smiling as I watch the blades' lazy circles. I take a deep breath, the warm morning air filling my lungs, enjoying the sweet smell of flowers and fried dough.

I scratch my chest, stretch my legs, and close my eyes again.

Relaxed.

It's been a hell of a month, and I know I still have to deal with a lot ... but I'm relaxed. I actually feel good today. No bad dreams. No worries.

No aching heart.

I can't help but smile as I swing my legs out of bed, bare feet landing on the slightly sandy brick floor. I push aside the window curtains and look out at the turquoise ocean. It's exactly the same as it has been for the last month, blue and calm, stretching into the distance to blend with the cloudless sky.

I smile, and head to the bathroom. It's tiny (like everything else here), with a primitive shower head on the end of a steel pipe projecting from the wall. I turn on the water and hear the heater kick on. As I wait for it to warm, I look at my naked reflection in the mirror.

What a difference a month makes. I'm definitely lost weight, and all these days of walking the beach have developed a healthy skin tone. Dark stubble on my jaw, tousled black hair, blue eyes and a nice tan -- I give myself a big grin and laugh. I haven't felt this good in years.

I step into the shower and start to rub down my body, rinsing away the evening's sweat, thinking about the house. It's a lot nicer than this hut, but I don't miss it at all. Katie can have it.

Ahh, Katie. I have a flash of worry -- not for her, but that this inevitable train of thought will derail my morning.

It was a month and a week ago that I got home early from work. Katie had said she was meeting up with Lisa for drinks, and Lisa's BMW was parked out front. I let myself in to the house, and stood in the entry way, enjoying the quiet.

Well. Almost quiet. Was Katie crying?

... I replay the scene in my head, grinning as I lather my hair.

I remember dropping my bag and jogging up the stairs, hearing Katie muffled sobs from the bedroom, concerned -- then opening the door, to find her fucking the brains out of Lisa's husband (my dentist), crying out in passion, her back arched as she rode him hard in the middle of our bed.

... I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grab a hand towel, and start drying my body.

In retrospect, I didn't handle it gracefully. There was a lot of yelling and tears, and Rob, the fucking dentist, just gave me a smug, shit eating grin. That was what blew my circuits. Within a week the divorce was papered, and my flight booked.

All of that feels so far away, today. I finish rubbing sunscreen into my shoulders and chest, and sigh contentedly. They can have each other. Somehow, over night, a giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I pull on a pair of swim trunks and a linen shirt, grab my sunglasses, and step out on to the stone patio. A few strides later and I'm on the beach, white sand between my toes, walking the short distance to Pablo's, the neighborhood beach bar that opens early to serve breakfast and bloody marys to the morning crowd.

I wave to Pablo, sit down at the end of the bar, and look over at ... you.

My heart skips a beat. You're gorgeous, and judging from your distinct lack of tan, newly arrived. A gentle breeze blows in off the ocean. I take a few slow, deep breaths, enjoying the fresh air. It's a beautiful morning for a new start.

Our eyes meet, and I give you a big friendly grin. I can't help myself.

"Good morning," I say with a new found confidence. "My name is Chris. Welcome to the island. How long are you staying?"