Chapter 8
Nicholas
“Good morning, Sunshine.”
Looking up, she powers off the iPad and places it in her bag. She had told me the name of book on the drive up, in case you’re wondering if I have Superman kinda vision.
“Good morning, Sir,” she replies, standing up.
She is wearing black leggings. Damn, her body is banging.
Sporting a blue sleeveless exercise top and blue adidas running shoes, she has an out-of-place, red merino wool turtleneck sweater, wrapped around her waist. An unusual combination…
I guess, the result of her not packing for an outing in the mountains. But she pulled it off in style.
“Lemme get this straight,” I drawl, “I give you a buzzing name, ‘Sunshine’ … and you give me a dull ‘Sir’. Let’s try that again.”
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I grin.
“Good morning, Pumpkin.” Hell, yea. Now that’s what I’m talking about!
“Ready for the day?”
“I sure am,” she says, with the most radiant smile ever.
When we’re in the car, I reach over to the back seat and hand her a gift bag. “This is for you.” In it was a sky blue, slim fit hoodie and a vivid blue fitted cap.
“Thanks, I love them. Blue is my favourite colour.”
“I know.”
Looking at me quizzically, “How would you know that?”
I wink. “You wear blue in 53.7% of your Instagram posts.”
She smiled, I smiled.
We journey up the winding roads, taking in the picturesque view of rivers, springs and mountains along the way.
Reaching for the smart water in her bag on the backseat, she notices my books strewn on the floor. “Why do you have textbooks scattered all over the floor?” she asks curiously, picking up one of the books to examine it closely.
“Well, I usually put them on the seat, but they tend to find themselves on the floor when I drive around winding roads,” I reply sarcastically.
“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Her tone sounding somewhat serious.
“It’s no big deal really… On Saturdays, I teach English, Math and Accounts to high school dropouts from an inner-city community, who are retaking their CSEC subjects. I guess it would be equivalent to redoing the GED in the US.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s so nice,” she says smiling. “Wait, is that why you left the luncheon early yesterday?”
“Yup.”
“I’d love to hear more about this charity, and all the other philanthropic activities you’re involved in. I saw some on your Instagram feed.”
“For sure, that would be really nice.”
About halfway to our destination we pull over at a popular look-out spot where we can see the city.
The entire city. We jump out of the car and for a moment just take in the panoramic view.
“This view is breathtaking. I should take photos,” she says ecstatically, unlocking her phone.
And while she is moving up and down trying to find the perfect angle, I eagle-eye her amazing body until she finally settles on the perfect position to take the photos.
Oh, how I’d love to position her there, I think to myself as I watch her bend over to snap shots.
“Do you mind taking a pic of me?”
“Of course not,” I respond, stretching my hand out for the phone.
I take four to six pictures of each pose. “Do you like them?” I ask, watching as she scrolls through the gallery.
“Love them!” she answers excitedly. “Let’s take a selfie.” Motioning me to stand beside her, she switches the camera to front-facing and hits the shutter button.
“Perfect.”
She smiled, I smiled.
We get back into the car and continue uphill, the road getting narrower as we near our destination, with potholes appearing out of nowhere.
With no internet service to power Google maps, we use the small, dilapidated, green signs on the side of the road to estimate the distance.
As we drive pass a sign that reads Real Ting Coffee Tour – 3km, an oncoming truck comes flying down the mountain, forcing me to swerve left, almost running the car over the cliff.
After regaining control of the vehicle, I glance over at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine… but that was scary,” she let out a long sigh, pressing her hands against her heart.
I offer her my hand and she takes it. Gently squeezing it, I tell her, “It’s okay.”
Even with my eyes fully focused on the road, I know she is looking at me. I can feel it.
Still holding her hand, our hands drift down to rest on her thigh. We keep them there for a while. It feels natural.
Around twenty minutes later we arrive at the cottage, the starting point for the tour. At the entrance, the height above sea level — 5,358 ft — is barely visible on an old, rickety wooden sign that looks as if it is about to drop down any day now. Perfect altitude for coffee to flourish.
Getting out of the car, we walk inside the cottage as per the instructions of the tour guide, presumably to keep us warm. Three other couples are already inside waiting for the tour to begin.
The first couple we meet, Giorgio and Elisa, are Italian and in their late twenties.
Giorgio is a geek (you can tell from what he’s wearing.
And if you need more evidence, he’s playing a game on a handheld device.
Is that Mario Kart? Who does that on a nice outing with their girl in a foreign country?) Elisa is gorgeous — I always wonder how losers like Giorgio end up with hot chicks like Elisa (plus she seems to be intelligent.
I notice that she’s reading the Economist, the English version at that.
What is she doing with this bum?) My assumption, he’s from a wealthy family.
The second couple, Shane and Sophie, are Irish and in their forties.
Shane seems extremely introverted, barely making eye contact when we introduce ourselves.
Sophie — very attractive and confident, and clearly out of his league — however, exchanges pleasantries.
It’s when she began to ask questions and I hear the accent that I know they are Irish.
“Where is the best place to get Jerk chicken?” Sophie asks.
And Lisa suggests the restaurant we went to last night. Pretty cool.
The third couple, Patrick and Jean, are locals in their seventies. Patrick’s mannerism suggests he had an illustrious career in the private sector, the Range Rover he parked outside giving credence to this theory. Jean appears to have been a stay-at-home mom (it’s just a gut feeling).
Perfect. Patrick and Jean are ideal for conversation. Old folks have a knack for asking questions to pry… and this is exactly what I need.
“Is this your first tour?” I ask inquiringly, to rev them up.
“No, we come every year. It’s beautiful up here,” Patrick responds.
Jean chimes in, “We’re buying a cabin about two miles down the road. We’ll post it on Airbnb.”
“That’s great, so we can rent it from you. At a discounted price, of course,” I grin and wink at Jean.
“You got it,” Jean gleams, blowing into her hands to keep warm.
Keeping the conversation going, she adds, “What about you? Is this your first time?”
“Yes, it’s our first time here.” C’mon Jean, ask a more invasive question. I need this.
We chat some more about random stuff, and then Jean hits the Jackpot.
“Are you together?” It’s clear she can’t contain her curiosity for much longer. She knows we aren’t related and has been trying to figure it out.
“Yes, we’ve been dating for seven months now,” I answer, taking Lisa’s hand into mine.
Lisa closes the space between us and leaning into my shoulder, adds “It’s actually eight months babe.” She was definitely having fun. “Maybe you both can give us advice on how to take the next step,” while tiptoeing and kissing me on the cheek.
Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Thanks, Jean. I’m going to rent your Airbnb and write a great review.
Shortly after, the last of the nine groups arrive, giving us the green light to begin our tour of the farm nestled in the bucolic valley.
Strolling through the mountain and enjoying our tour, I whisper in Lisa’s ear, “Let’s go over there”, showing her a trail and mischievously suggesting we veer off the main track.
Did my lip touch her ear? I think so. Yup, from her reaction, it definitely had brushed her ear.
“Okay,” she whispers back, then giggles.
We slow down to allow the two groups trailing behind us to move ahead.
And like naughty kids on a school trip, we sneak away from the pack, cutting through the forest and following the sound of water trickling nearby.
As we get closer to the stream — the trickling sound getting louder — we pick a handful of unique-looking fruits.
I’m no pomologist, but I’m certain it’s a bastard cousin of berries.
Following the sound, yanking out debris to clear the path, and climbing over and under branches, we finally catch sight of the stream. I hear Lisa whisper, “Gorgeous.” Just one more low-hanging branch to test our gymnastics skills and we’re there.
Wow. She is flexible. Yoga-flexible.
In the stream, we sit on a rock large enough to hold both of us comfortably, remove our shoes and dip our feet in the water. It is cold but feels great.
As we snack on what was the last of our berries (let’s call it that until we are told otherwise), we have a light-hearted conversation about our favourite movies.
Showing her a different side of me, I share that I like one of her favourites, The Notebook.
Thank God one of my exes had pestered me to watch it. Totally worth it.
Another one of her all-time favourites is the one and only, Pretty Woman.
“This is really embarrassing, but I recently watched Pretty Woman again, like it was my very first time. I must’ve seen it at least ten times,” she confesses, smiling and tossing a tiny pebble into the stream.
Then continuing, “After I first saw the movie in the cinema, Richard Gere became one of my favourite actors.”
“Have you ever seen Unfaithful? He stars in it,” I ask curiously, or strategically.
“Yes. I have,” she responds quietly.
“Did you like it?”
“I did.”
“We should get going now,” I say while standing up, before reaching for her hand to help her up.
Listening out for voices, we track down the rest of the group like seasoned hunters and rejoin them like we had never left in the first place.
We cut in front of Patrick and Jean who are lagging behind the group to take pictures.
Patrick nods and Jean winks. Their way of saying, “We know what you did.”
In response, I put my finger to my lips. My way of saying “Don’t tell anyone”.
Behaving ourselves, like adults this time around, we enjoy the rest of the tour.
At the end of it, we are treated to the most premium coffee in the island, reserved only for this tour.
This is beautiful. Sitting on the grass, cut off from the outside world, having a cup of coffee with a beautiful woman. In simplicity, you find beauty.
After we finish our coffee, we walk around aimlessly discussing our insecurities, our ambitions, our fears getting to know each other on a deeper level.
Something I thought I’d never get to experience again.
Or maybe, it’s something I am afraid to experience again.
Meandering southwest, we stumble across the stream.
It’s about three feet deep at this part of the mountain, in effect blocking us from getting to the other side.
“I guess we have to turn back,” I suggest, hoping she will object.
“No, we can’t,” Lisa says, brushing me off. And while pointing at the look-out point, insists, “The best view is on the other side.”
“Okay, cool. I’ve an idea.”
“You do? What?”
“Hop on,” I tell her, bending over and pointing to my back. “I’ll give you a piggy-back-ride.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“I’m not going to repeat,” I say sternly.
“Yes, sir.” Laughing, she jumps on my back, lock her feet in my arms, and wrap her arms around my neck.
“Is this your first piggy-back-ride?” I question; willing to bet it is.
“It is,” sounding very pleased with herself.
With every step, her hair brushes a different part of my neck, her scent wafting down to my nostrils. This is surprisingly really cool.
As the clouds emerge, the fog lessens and we get to enjoy the spectacular view before navigating our way back to the cottage.
We make quite a few wrong turns in the process before reaching a key landmark — a bunch of wildflowers naturally formed into the image of a star.
Almost there. Just three more Blue Mahoes to pass and then the cottage should be in sight.
Well, it actually turned out to be four more Blue Mahoes. My bad.
When we get back, all the other vehicles are gone. Even the tour guide has left on his motorcycle.
Just us alone in the mountains, along with the wildlife. I feel like I should know that bird perched on the bonnet. I can see it in my high school textbook. Anyway, not important.
Walking side by side towards my car, I unlock the doors, and again she instinctively goes to the driver’s side.
“I told you not to let it happen again.”
“Oh yeah, or what?”
She smiled. I smiled.
I push the key in my pocket, walk over to her and gently cradle her cheeks between my hands. Looking deep into her eyes, my gaze drifts to her lips for a brief moment, before slowly finding its way back to her eyes.
I’ve had a huge crush on Lisa ever since I first saw her in that purple dress on the BBC. This moment feels unreal. The way she is looking at me, I can tell she’s feeling something too. This moment feels unreal.
“I told you not to let it happen again,” I say almost inaudibly.
“Oh yeah, or what?” she repeats softly, like it’s the last few words you say right before falling asleep.
She closes her eyes and inhales. Anticipating. I close my eyes and inhale. Imagining. And inching closer, we kiss with a passion I never knew could be possible again.
I’m not sure how much time passed.
“Ready for the beach, babe?” I ask, somehow finding the willpower to slow things down.
“Um yea, I’m ready,” she replies, her face flush from our kiss.
“One more kiss?” I playfully beg, while playing in her hair.
“Yes,” whispering and looking into my eyes with anticipation.
One more kiss… turned out to be a very long one.