Chapter 8
The Pirate Regatta party is spread out on the beach, with a million stars overhead. Food tables groan under coal pots filled with rice, peas, and stewed chicken that women brought from their homes.
There are bowls piled high with curry goat and crab. A giant pot of boiling water sits on a wood-burning fire.
Women wearing aprons covered in flour throw the dough into the boiling water to make dumplings as large as my hand.
The islanders use the thick white dumplings to scoop up their food and sauce. The dumplings are basically edible spoons.
A reggae band warms up on the sand. I don’t know anyone so I’m relieved when Mrs. Harris from St. Nicholas Library and Historical Museum comes over and talks to me.
Keston introduced us during my first week back on the island. It feels like ages ago, even though it was only three weeks earlier.
I’d gone in to see if I could borrow books from the library and check out the museum.
The next thing I knew, I’d been drafted to help catalog boxes of documents and artifacts that had been dropped off months ago. I ended up going to the museum for several days to complete that task under Mrs. Harris’s hawk eyes.
While I loved the experience, I found it strange that almost no one came to the library or museum. Not even school kids. Mrs. Harris said it was because everything is on the Internet now. And because of TikTok.
But the museum has loads of cool stuff. It’s a real shame no one visits it, not even tourists.
“Carmela Jones. It’s good to see you again.”
“You too, Mrs. Harris.”
“Thank you for your help at the museum. You’re welcome to come back anytime. In fact, we will form a book club if you want to take part?”
“Me? I don’t know anyone here.”
She pats my arm. “Exactly. You can change that. Come by and get the list of names and phone numbers of those who’d be interested. You can call them and set it all up. Thursday evenings or Saturday afternoons would work for me.”
This woman is a genius at delegating tasks. I could learn a thing or two from her.
She waves and walks off, a big smile on her face. “Mission accomplished,” she’s probably saying to herself.
“Why do I feel as if she’s drafted me again but makes it seem as if I volunteered?”
Keston, who has sauntered up to my side after taking an actual shower in the fisherman’s building, looks and smells fresh and delicious, unlike me, who took a sink splash.
“She’s looking out for you. Trying to keep you from falling into my evil hands.”
“Too late.”
He plants a soft kiss on my hair as I relax into him. He’s solid and strong. His six-foot-two frame would tower over most people back in the States. But here, he’s just above average height.
Looking up through my eyelashes, I ask, “Why do the fishermen get real showers and the women’s bathroom is bare bones?”
“It’s to compensate for the dangerous job they do every day.”
“Oh, okay, I can’t complain about that.”
“But you’ll try to,” he snickers, pinching my side.
I smack his arm away and stand up tall. “Let’s get our food before it’s all gone.”
“Someone learned to eat in case of an emergency,” he teases.
“Damn right.”
When we first met, I picked at my food, skipped meals, and dieted a lot. Now, after being stranded on an island with Keston, I learned to stock up on my calories. With no shame. The more the better.
After filling our plates with delicious-smelling food, Keston guides me to a smooth log at the edge of the sea. The log looks washed clean from the rain and bleached by the sun.
It doesn’t look like the softest of seats. Keston whips off his jersey and spreads it on the log for us to sit on.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, while thinking, thank God he did that.
“Pretend you can’t see me rolling my eyes,” he teases.
This man knows me well.
I settle onto the log and sigh happily. “This is nice. Thank you.”
We’re close enough to hear the laughter and music. But far enough to feel as if we’re in our own private world.
Shallow waves curl near our bare feet, leaving behind kisses of white foam on the sand.
“You did good out there, CJ. You can be my co-pilot anytime.” Keston settles his plate on his lap and digs in with his oversized dumpling.
“Other than the fish thing,” I mutter, trying to steer my food onto the dumpling. There must be an easier way to eat this.
“No one’s perfect,” he says.
I roll my eyes. His ex defies that notion. I bet she’s not struggling to pick up her food.
“Do you need help there?” He eyes my clumsy attempt to scoop up food and sauce with my dough.
“I’m okay.” I’m determined to try and fit in. I’ve not advanced very far at it in the past few weeks. Something the fishermen tease Keston about all the time.
They always ask him, “Has she learned to clean a fish yet?”
Apparently, that’s one of the barometers for being a St. Nicholas islander. Whether I can gut and clean a fish, fillet it, and cook it up in a nice sauce.
To which I always shiver and say, “Never happening.”
I kiss him on his cheek to distract him from my plate. How can I manage chopsticks but can’t hold a flat dumpling between my thumb and forefinger? Seriously?
“You seem to be making some friends. I saw you talking to Mrs. Harris.”
I break into a smile. “I like her. She said that since I helped her organize the boxes of documents, I could come back anytime. She’s forming a book club.”
Keston’s eyes shine at me. “That’s cool. You can read your romance books with them.”
I scoff. “Not. Can you imagine the scandal if I handed them one of my steamy reads? I’d be kicked off the island.”
“They are pornographic.”
“They are not. They’re hot.”
He scratches his head. “I won’t be jealous as long as your books don’t grow a penis.”
I laugh. “There’s more than one way to wave your freak flag.”
He smacks his forehead. “Don’t steer our conversation in that direction, darling. Or else your back will be hitting this log. And your legs will be dancing on my shoulders. And trust me, I won’t care if Mrs. Harris sees it instead of reads about it.”
I push his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
I eye him warily as I continue dipping my dumpling and sucking the sauce off the edge of it. The dipping and sucking is awakening a rush of excitement.
It’s been a full day since Keston Kips aroused my body with his tongue. My poor pussy is having withdrawal symptoms.