Until I Met You

Roman’s eyes cut to her. ‘You want liquorice, too?’

There was no proper way to respond to that except to smirk. ‘I’d take a chocolate bar, if you had it.’

The tourist backed out of the shop, hands raised over his head. ‘Didn’t mean to start anything. Have a nice day, you two!’

Once he was gone, Roman opened a drawer, pulled out a miniature chocolate bar and tossed it her way. It was one of her favourites, chock full of caramel and peanuts. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But you’ve scared yet another customer away. Just admit you’re no good at this.’

‘It’s not my life’s calling. I’ll tell you that.’

Samantha slid onto a barstool. ‘What is your calling?’

‘That’s what I’m here in Tobago to figure out.’

‘You don’t live here permanently?’

‘No, I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘The slow pace would kill me. I’m on sabbatical.’

‘From what?’

He shifted, looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Money peddling on Wall Street.’

‘Oh? Was that your official title?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘You’re a long way from Wall Street.’

‘I know it.’

‘What’s the plan?’ she asked.

‘A bit of freelancing.’

‘Back in New York?’

‘I’m consulting, so it’s anywhere with Wi-Fi,’ he said. ‘For now the focus is to help my grandfather get his new business off the ground. He put a lot of money into renovating his old store when this resort opened up last spring.’

‘To draw hapless tourists like me.’

‘Tourists like you keep so many businesses afloat; you have no idea. I’ve worked with a few, helping to improve their discoverability online. They can’t depend on word of mouth anymore and some haven’t kept up with the times.’

She wouldn’t admit it, but she was properly impressed. His story was inspiring: leaving his job, starting a business, waking up in paradise every day. That was the dream.

A group of women pulled up in a car and rushed into the shop. Wearing nothing but Spandex, they looked like escapees from a yoga retreat. They marvelled at the cute décor. A few whipped out phones and started snapping pictures. Two approached the counter.

Roman greeted them in typical Roman fashion. ‘If you’re looking for candy, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

Samantha buried her face in her hands. She had to hand it to the man. He never missed an opportunity to be a world-class smart-arse. Fortunately, these ladies were his type of people.

‘If you’ve got beer and chips, you’re good.’

One approached a display case loaded with fat golden empanadas. ‘We’ll have some of these, too.’

Without prompting, Samantha hopped off the barstool and helped Roman behind the counter. She found a pair of tongs and the white paper bags for the empanadas. Roman grabbed the beer and the women loaded the counter with bags of plantain crisps. Meanwhile they plotted. ‘The patties are for now. The snacks are for later. We’ll stash them in our suitcases.’

They were definitely escapees from a yoga retreat. Samantha asked them to tag Candy’s Shop on any photos posted online and waved goodbye as they pulled out in their rental car. ‘Namaste!’

They worked like this for the rest of the day. She took care of the customers, selling sandwiches, empanadas, soft drinks, and bottled water to a steady clientele of tourists on their way to or heading back from various excursions. Roman oversaw a delivery, organized the storage room, and restocked shelves. They stole a moment to eat after the lunch-hour crowd emptied out.