As the last game ended and Ben sulked into his beanbag of despair, Jane climbed back onto her stool, spoon-microphone raised high.
"Alright, party people!" she shouted, voice echoing over the clatter of ice and laughter. "We've reached the moment of truth—the On-the-Spot Talent Showcase!"
A few groans and cheers rippled through the crowd.
Jane pointed dramatically. "Clinic, Café, and Pet Café—you each must present a talent. The winner gets a monetary prize courtesy of our beloved Marina!"
Marina raised her wine glass with a serene nod. "Cash. Not coupons."
That got everyone's attention.
Ben sat up. "Wait. Real money?"
Jane grinned. "Yes, Ben. Real, spendable, appliance-buying money."
Ben narrowed his eyes. "Then I'm in."
"You're going to perform?" Jane asked, eyebrows raised.
"I've lost every game tonight," Ben said, standing slowly like a man preparing for battle. "But I will not lose my dignity. I will sing."
"Oh no," someone whispered.
"Oh yes," Ben replied.
The Pet Café team went first. Rico, the groomer, performed a surprisingly graceful ribbon dance with a leash and a squeaky toy. The crowd clapped. Someone cried.
Next, the Café team. Liza, the barista, did a spoken-word poem about espresso and heartbreak. It was oddly moving.
Then the Clinic team. Tomas and Jessa performed a duet—ukulele and interpretive dance. The dance involved a lot of dramatic lunges and one accidental cartwheel.
Finally, Ben stepped forward.
"I dedicate this to all the appliances I never won," he said solemnly.
Then he began to sing.
It was… passionate.
Dramatic.
Off-key.
He hit every note like it owed him money. At one point, he dropped to his knees and reached toward the moon.
Jane covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. "Is this… a ballad?"
"It's a battle cry," Ben said between verses.
Asha watched quietly from the side, sipping her drink.
The spotlight was on Ben.
And his pride refused to go down without a song.
The crowd was buzzing.
Ben stood center stage—or rather, center tarp—having just finished his impassioned, off-key ballad. He was sweating. Knees sandy. Eyes hopeful.
Jane climbed back onto her stool, spoon-microphone in hand, and raised her voice above the applause.
"Alright! That was… something. A heartfelt performance from Ben, who sang like the moon owed him money!"
Ben gave a dramatic bow. "Thank you. I call that piece 'Ode to Appliances I Never Won.'"
As Ben finished his dramatic ballad—knees sandy, voice cracking, pride barely intact—Jane hopped back onto her stool, spoon-microphone raised high.
"Alright, folks!" she called out. "You've seen the talents. You've felt the emotions. You've witnessed interpretive chicken. Now it's time to vote!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement. Someone passed around a stack of small papers and pens. The rules were simple: write the name of the performer you think deserves the prize. Fold it. Drop it in the salad bowl near the grill.
"Participants, center stage!" Jane announced.
Ben stood tall, flanked by Rico the groomer (still holding his squeaky ribbon), Liza the barista (hands clasped nervously), Tomas and Jessa from the clinic (still catching their breath), and Mariel the waitress (mid-chicken encore).
Asha watched from her seat, sipping her drink. Her gaze flicked to Theo, who remained near the garden path—still silent, still scentless, still watching.
Back at the voting bowl, the papers piled up. Some were folded neatly. Others were crumpled with dramatic flair. One had a doodle of a rice cooker.
Ben leaned toward Jane. "Do you think they felt my pain?"
"I think they felt something," Jane said. "Whether it was pain or confusion is up for debate."
Marina, ever composed, walked over and gave the bowl a gentle shake. "Ready?"
Jane nodded. "Let's count."
The crowd gathered as Jane read each vote aloud.
"Liza."
"Liza."
"Tomas and Jessa."
"Rico."
"Liza."
"Mariel."
"Liza."
"Tomas and Jessa."
"Liza."
"Ben."
"Liza."
Ben blinked. "Wait. Just one?"
Jane held up the final slip. "And the winner is… Liza, our espresso poet!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. Liza covered her mouth, stunned. "I—I didn't even rhyme!"
"You didn't need to," Jane said. "You made us feel things. About coffee. And heartbreak."
Ben stood frozen. "I lost… to a poem."
"You lost to a feeling," Jane said, patting his shoulder.
"I crab-walked for this," Ben whispered.
Jane handed him a consolation cookie again. "You're still a winner in our hearts. Just not in the bank."
The party had mellowed into its moonlit phase. Some danced barefoot on the grass, swaying to music that now sounded like a romantic playlist filtered through a karaoke machine. Others were slumped over tables, heads heavy with cocktails and laughter. The scent of grilled pork and coconut rum lingered in the air.
At one table near the edge of the garden, Jane sat with Marina, finally coaxed into joining after much dramatic pleading.
"Come on," Jane had said, patting the empty seat beside her. "You're the queen of this resort. Sit with your subjects. We have snacks and scandal."
Marina chuckled and obliged, settling in with a glass of wine.
Jane leaned in, eyes twinkling. "So… where's your handsome brother?"
Marina blinked. "Theo?"
"Yes, Theo," Jane said, dragging out the name like a romantic sigh. "Tall, mysterious, suit-wearing Theo. Is he single? What's his type? Does he like women with strong opinions and weak impulse control?"
Marina laughed softly. "I don't think he has a type. He's… complicated."
Ben, who had wandered over with a half-eaten cookie and a bruised ego, dropped into the seat beside them.
"Jane, lower your standards," he said. "Some people—like you—are not universally likable."
Jane gasped. "Ben! I am a delight. I am a tropical cocktail of charm and chaos."
"You're a spilled cocktail," Ben muttered.
Jane ignored him, turning back to Marina. "So, is Theo single? Asking for a friend. That friend is me."
Marina shook her head. "He's… private. Doesn't talk much about that."
"Does he like smart women?" Jane asked. "Or mysterious ones? Or women who can eat twelve dumplings in one sitting?"
Ben snorted. "He probably likes peace and quiet. You're the opposite of that."
Jane pointed at him. "You're just bitter because you lost every game tonight."
"I'm bitter because I crab-walked for an air fryer and got mocked," Ben said.
Marina smiled, sipping her wine. "Theo's not really the dating type. He's always been more focused on work. And… other things."
Jane leaned in, whispering dramatically. "Secret hobbies? Hidden heartbreak? Is he secretly a poet?"
Ben groaned. "Jane, you're building a fantasy novel."
"I'm building a future," Jane said. "Anyway, Mr. Theo should get married. He's the same age as Denver, right? And Denver's already married. And his wife is pregnant!"
Marina paused mid-sip. "Wait—what?"
Asha, seated nearby and mid-bite into a barbecue skewer, choked.
She grabbed her juice, gulped it down, and slapped Jane's arm. "What are you talking about?"
Jane blinked, unfazed. "Kira. Pregnant. Didn't you know? She's glowing. Like, suspiciously glowing."
Marina's brows furrowed. "No. I didn't."
Ben looked up from his cookie. "Uh-oh."
Jane kept going, completely missing the signal. "I mean, come on! With Denver's face and Kira's bone structure? That kid's gonna look like a magazine cover. Maybe even a shampoo commercial."
Asha stared at her, wide-eyed. "Jane."
"What?" Jane said, sipping her drink. "I'm just saying. If Theo doesn't get moving, he'll be the last handsome man standing."
Marina sat back in her chair, wine glass in hand, lips pursed in quiet disbelief.
"Kira's pregnant?" she repeated, more to herself than anyone else.
Jane nodded enthusiastically, her drink sloshing slightly. "Yup! Glowing like a lantern. I thought you knew. You're cousins, right? You and Denver are like… family-fam."
Marina didn't respond right away. She wasn't angry—just sulking. Her favorite cousin hadn't told her. Not a message, not a whisper. And now she was hearing it from Jane, who was currently using a spoon as a microphone and a napkin as a shawl.
Asha glanced over, still chewing slowly, watching Marina's expression shift from confusion to quiet disappointment.
Ben, sensing the mood, leaned in. "Maybe Denver was waiting for the right moment. Or maybe he's just bad at announcements."
Jane, meanwhile, was still on her Theo tangent. "Anyway, back to your brother. Marina, you didn't answer my question—does he like women who talk a lot? Like, a lot a lot? Because I have a lot of personality and zero filter."
Marina stood up suddenly, brushing crumbs off her skirt. "I need to find Denver."
Jane reached out, alarmed. "Wait! No! I still have questions! I need answers! What's Theo's favorite color? Does he believe in soulmates? Has he ever cried during a movie?"
She tried to stand, but her legs betrayed her. Instead, she slumped forward, cheek landing squarely on the table.
Ben didn't even flinch. "Well. That's the sound of dignity hitting wood."
Jane groaned, face pressed against the tablecloth. "Marinaaaa… don't leave me in mystery…"
Marina spotted Denver near the buffet table, laughing with two of his friends over a plate of grilled squid. She walked straight up to him, calm but direct. "Denver. Is Kira pregnant?"
Denver blinked. "Wait—what?"
Marina tilted her head. "You didn't tell me."
Denver's eyes widened. "You're telling me?"
Marina raised an eyebrow. "I'm asking."
Denver's mouth opened, then closed. "I—I need to check something."
He bolted toward the villa, nearly knocking over a tray of fruit. "Kira!" he shouted. "Kira?!"
Marina watched him disappear.
Ben, still seated, looked at Jane. "Did he just find out he's going to be a dad from you?"
Jane, still face-down, mumbled, "I'm a prophet. A drunk prophet."
Asha shook her head. "This is all your fault."
Jane, drunkenly and sleepily, raised an arm. "I'm a catalyst for truth."
"More like a walking plot twist," Asha muttered.
The music played on. Someone started dancing with a rice cooker again. But at this table, the chaos had taken a new form.