Chapter Five
When the fire’s out, smoke still remains.
Rezi
The morning sunlightstreamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm glow across the room as I opened the private patio door, a cup of coffee cradled in my hands. Taking in a much-needed breath, the freshness teased my nostrils as the slight aroma of coffee floated through them.
Yesterday had been one for the books. A sea of firsts, leaving me with more feelings than I cared to explore. Truly, if it weren’t for me being here in Colombia right now, staring at a beautiful garden escape in the most exquisite property I’d ever stayed at, I’m not sure I’d believe any of the events I’d experienced had actually occurred.
The memories of the day before danced through my mind like fragments of a dream—being blitzed on a private jet, a sky-high shower, and the bittersweet ache of nostalgia. Peering into his room, my thoughts drifted to DeShawn, whom I’d already heard leave. The plan he’d put in motion, for us both to travel to Colombia together, culminated in the two of us taking a trip high above the clouds, both literally and figuratively. For a fleeting moment, it had felt like nothing had changed between us. The hurt we’d caused each other melting away in the fog of an induced relaxation. However, mornings were for enlightenment, this one even more so as my sober, weary mind fought to make all the details perfectly clear.
DeShawn was undeniably sexy and had sexed me in a way that made me wet, even if I simply thought about it too hard. We’d always been able to connect in the bedroom. If we neglected each other in the craziness of our days or jobs, then nighttime was where we’d find each other again. Appreciating one another. In truth the connection scared me from the beginning. From a young age, I knew how fragile life could be and I didn’t like finding new things that I was afraid to lose. Shawn had undoubtedly been that shiny, new thing and just as I feared, he left. Imprinting me with a harsh memory I needed to hold onto.
Putting on my jacket, over my yellow tank top and jeans, I prepared for my scheduled tour of the estate that Mathias Murillo and his wife, Anna Maria, had stopped by to inform me about an hour ago. After meeting them last night, I’d skipped dinner to get a jump-start on the business that had bought me here in the first place. Finding the agreement more complex than expected had me pulling an all-nighter in order to get everything organized and prepared for our legal team to work on today.
Ensuring our company’s connection remained solely in the black and white parts of Murillo’s business was of the utmost importance. Although my uncle had a lot of associates who worked both in and outside the bounds of the law, he always remained adamant that his business and our family worked squarely within the legal entities. This tour today would be the final missing key I needed to understand their productions and set-up our official offer.
After swallowing the last drop of caffeine, I set down my cup and made my way to the door. Dread overtook my serenity within seconds. DeShawn would be on this tour with me, and the awkwardness that lay ahead felt like a shadow following my every step.
DeShawn and I had barely spoken since the flight, our intimate encounter sending ripples through my carefully guarded heart. There was a point in our recent past when I’d loved him more than anyone, and I could feel pieces of that emotion seeping back through, but the chasm that pulled us apart the first time was also still there like a poorly dressed wound ready to be ripped open. Therefore, the question in my mind remained—if we were to go there again, which one of us might be the first to bleed out this time around?
“Hello again, Ms. Stone,” Alberto said, approaching from the walkway.
“Nice to see you again.” Smiling, I accepted his handshake.
Yesterday, I’d legit despised him, hearing him apologize for Mr. Murillo in the condescending way he’d done on our ride here. However, by the end of our hour-long drive, I couldn’t deny Alberto’s passion for all things Colombia. He had a lure about him that pulled you in and made you trust him. Perhaps his age played a part in the impression. He was older, about the age of my grandfather, and with time people often associated wisdom. While it also may stand that one’s threat level decreased with age. Clearly those who believed that, though, had never met my resilient gramps in his heyday kicking a motorcycle club out of the bar he managed. Either way, I was grateful that Alberto, for the gentlemen he was, would be my tour guide for the day.
“Good morning, Rezi.”
I twirled in time to see DeShawn stuff an arepa—a small corn cake big here in Colombia—in his mouth. Before arriving in Columbia, I’d researched all sorts of things, but arepas stood out to me because culturally they represented national unity and pride.
“Morning.” I smiled.
“Here, I got you some.” Handing me two arepas wrapped in a napkin, DeShawn greeted Alberto, his words mixing from Spanish to English.
I’d almost forgotten Shawn spoke Spanish until that moment, a skill he’d attained in college, along with a couple other languages. He’d once told me that in order to make a great documentary, one of the most important pieces was trust—gaining the trust of everyone you met. Therefore, when you asked them a question, they answered honestly and openly. Simply put, you made yourself their friend and that was easiest to do if you spoke the same language.
“What’s this for?” I asked, lifting the food in my hand.
“Breakfast,” he answered plainly. “Since I’m sure you skipped it.”
“No, I’m good.” I handed them back.
“Coffee doesn’t count as breakfast, Ree, and I’m told this tour involves a lot of walking, so please just eat it.”
Damn it. I hated how the assured way he talked about me, even when telling me what to do, still put butterflies in my stomach.
“Fine.” I gave in, devouring the food in minutes. They were delicious, with one including a banana filling I hadn’t expected given it was far from the traditional arepas, but was suitable for breakfast.
Remember, you hate him, I silently reprimanded even after thanking him for the food. The thought in itself made me feel like a fool. I wanted to hate him, but I think we both knew it was a fight I was losing.
Shawn revered nature. It was the one place he always seemed at home, and it bought out a bossier side of him that I strangely enjoyed. He could come across quite passive at times, seeming as though he didn’t care about whatever topic was being discussed, especially a controversial one. He hated the spotlight, and voicing an opinion on such matters could draw attention. So, I’d came to adore the occasions where his passion and confidence shined through, him taking center stage in a sense.
The tour of the lavish estate grounds was nothing short of stunning—rows of coffee trees stretching as far as the eye could see, banana plants swaying gently in the breeze, and a riot of colorful flowers perfuming the air with their sweet fragrance. Even the reefer plants seemed to have their own beauty, leaving me in awe of the massive farming empire the Murillos had built. Mathias was known for his business savviness, but the landscape laid out in front of me seemed more a labor of love than anything else.
DeShawn was capturing video footage, while Alberto talked me through the variety of plants and trees. Parts of the tour even included a couple models, meant to showcase the cannabis.
As the tour came to an end in the same spot we’d begun, a twinge of sadness overcame me.
“Well, that was amazing.”
“Yeah, it was,” DeShawn agreed.
“Seemed like you got some good footage.”
“I did.” He halted in his trek, causing me to do the same. “You know, I expected this project to be like any of my other high-end clients. Just a way to pay the bills and fund the assignments I really care about.”
“Documentaries,” I interjected.
“Exactly,” he replied. “But instead, it’s been something else entirely. I mean ultimately, I’m gathering footage first in Vegas and now in Colombia, to entice people like us to buy tickets to this huge weed event. Mathias wants to make the Haze and Blaze Festival into a yearly experience. Bigger than Burning Man and Coachella combined.”
I waited for him to continue, but instead he got lost in thought causing me to do the same. Talking with him still drew me in like it used to. I genuinely yearned to hear him speak. Be around him. Hell, I wanted to do just about anything with him. However, I also knew I shouldn’t even consider such things. We were exes for a reason. Fool me once, shame on him. Fool me twice … well, you know how it goes.
Ending this conversation was the smart move, a decision based around learned feelings that I’d fought to hold onto every day since we ended.
“Butttt?” I questioned, giving into my curiosity. “You’re gathering all this footage for a cannabis festival, buttt – ”
He smiled in the guiltless, childlike way he always had when he’d grown absent-minded, forgetting he hadn’t gotten to the point.
“Butttt, I’m actually really enjoying gathering the different film from the diverse locations, scenery, and staging. I feel like at the end of all of this, I’ll be able to tell a pretty great story through my footage. Take the viewers on this eccentric, unattainable journey.”
“Similar to the journey I’m hoping people take during the festival,” Anna Maria Murillo stated as she approached us from behind.
“Sorry if I startled you both, but I love what you said about taking viewers on a journey since it’s what you were hired for.”
“Yep, of-of course,” Shawn stuttered, quickly recovering. “It’ll be great.”
Anna whispered, “Unattainable?” The word sounded like a question, but nothing followed.
Stealing a glance at DeShawn, I noticed that his face grew bashful, like he’d said something wrong. However, the way Anna was looking, it appeared her wheels were spinning more than anything. When she did find the words to speak again, she simply invited us to dinner, informing us Mathias and her would be hosting a small dinner party and to dress formally.
“Honey, I left a few things for you in the closet in your room,” Anna said lightly, grasping my hands. “Please wear whatever you’d like.”
Her voice was maternal and calming.
“That is way too kind,” I stated.
Before I could properly thank her, she was pulled away by one of their assistants.
People were constantly coming in and out of the vast estate, making it feel more like an office or hotel than a home anyways. Hence why a party tonight seemed fitting. This group of people together for a shared meal would most likely feel like a gathering even if it were a simple dinner.
Although I had no idea what I’d wear, or if any of the items Anna graciously left for me would fit, I had to admit that I was excited to get some brief work accomplished and see what the evening might bring, hoping more than anything that it’d serve as a distraction from my thoughts and most of all DeShawn.