Akeemand I walked from the resort to the market down the street. My denim sun dress waved in the slight offshore breeze. The village market was amazing. So many smells of home-cooked food and fruit stands.
“This is amazing,” I say in awe.
“Come here every Saturday. Here, they have the best lychee,” he tells me.
He takes me to one specific fruit stand. The colorful displays of mangoes, figs, pineapples, tomatoes, starfruits, peaches, lychee, and pomegranates in full view.
“Tantie!” He exclaims.
An older woman with braided hair in a bun atop her head and white sundress walked out from behind a sheet used as a curtain.
“Akeem,” she beams.
“Tantie, this is my friend, Laura. She is visiting the resort and I am showing her the sights of Barbados.”
“It is nice to meet you,” her Banjan accent thick and her English short.
“Laura, this is my tantie, Aarica,” he says.
“It’s nice to meet you. Your display is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“The best lychee, but also the best starfruit,” he tells me.
“It all looks amazing, but these mangoes and guava look absolutely incredible,” I said.
I take a mango and guava into my hand and smell the outside of the fruit. Their smell intoxicating.
Taking my hands in hers, “You must keep,” she says firmly.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask.
“It is a gift,” Akeem reminds me.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“Thank you,” she repeated.
We walk off and join the rest of the crowd in the market, as I place my fruit gifts inside my purse at my side. Thoroughly enjoying my time with this man beside me, I meet his expectant gaze.
“What do you wish to do for your birthday?” he asks.
“Well, I wanted to drink, and I did that,” I say with a smile.
“You did,” he agreed.
Fuck me.
You are in mother fucking Barbados.
Fuck me.
“Snorkeling,” I say, my nerves getting the best of me.
Snorkeling? That’s what you could come up with?
“Of course,” his dimpled smile in full effect.
“You don’t have to, I’m sure I can find a tour guide,” I say with unintentional coyness.
“No one knows the spots more than a local. That’s a promise.”
“I bet you do,” I whisper.
He places his hand behind his neck, pulling his t-shirt with his finger. As he does, more of his tattoos become visible. Several words, symbols and wildlife are tattooed around his neck.
“Let’s go,” he suggests.
He holds his hand out to me, and I take it without hesitation. Something about this tatted up stranger told me that I could not only trust him, but I would be okay in his presence. The attraction to him was real, but yet I wasn’t sure how he felt. Sure, he flirted. His twinkling eyes, his winks and his eyebrow raises would be enough, but he truly hasn’t tried anything. I don’t know if that’s good or if that’s bad.
* * *