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He sounds much more certain when he calls it ‘home’ this time. I like that, though I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s just that I want him to feel like he has a safe place to go, always, no matter where his travels take him. Which also makes me question what’s going to happen when we leave Aruba. Will he move on to the next place or stay? Will he stay with me?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but he hits that spot on my skull again with his thumb and I moan instead.
“And you, mia rosa? Tell me of your home.”
He doesn’t mean America, or even my hometown. I tell him what he’s really asking, or maybe it’s just what I want to share with him. “SweetPea is my home. Everyone thought I was crazy when I stepped out and did it, or they thought Dad was going to support me while I ‘played with flowers’, but that’s not it at all. I had this dream, a goal, and I built it from the ground up with my own hard work. I love it there, making people happy, bringing an unexpected joy to their day with something as simple and beautiful as a flower. It’s the best of both worlds for me—creativity and business.”
“You are a successful businesswoman,” he summarizes. “Brilliance and beauty in one.”
I laugh, saying sassily, “That’s definitely thanks to my parents. Got my good looks from my momma, and my business smarts from my daddy.”
“They are important to you.”
“My parents? Yeah. My whole family is close, too close, some say, considering my brother married my best friend, and his best friend is married to our sister.”
“And here we are, you and your best friend’s cousin.”
We talk about everything and nothing, sharing stories from our youth and dreams for our future. Though we’re careful not to delve too deeply into the future of us, both of us careful with our words.
I do learn that Lorenzo wants to learn Creole cooking, “The real thing, from an old woman who cooks for her family with recipes handed down for generations and stored only in her mind, not a typical chef,” and that he wants to visit the Galapagos Islands, not for anything food-related but to see the tortoises because “They’re ancient and amazing.”
I tell him about propagating my own varieties of flowers and plants and my desire to do more upscale weddings and events, and I share that tortoises terrify me.
“It’s not like they can run after you,” he argues.
“Doesn’t matter. Scaly, creepy, no-teeth monsters. Noping right out of that.”
We laugh and talk and snuggle, and before long, the sun is rising slowly over the horizon in broad strokes of orange and pink that obliterate the purple of night.
Lorenzo hears it first, the hum of an engine. We sit up and look at each other with shock and hope. “Let’s go see how fast we can get moving.”
On the deck, a small crowd has gathered, including Janey, who looks pretty refreshed, all things considered. She’s the only one, though. The party atmosphere of last night has deteriorated, turning everyone else into a walking zombie pack that smells fresh meat.
“How long is this going to take?”
“I need to get back to the resort. Our flight leaves today!”
“I expect a full refund for this mess!”
The repairman, who thankfully isn’t the same one from the cooler, waves his hands at the crowd, trying to get them to back up. “None of that has anything to do with me. All I do is fix shit, and I can’t do that if you’re in my way.”
Ooh, he means business. I like this guy instantly and hope that he’s just as efficient at getting this ship moving.
He pushes his way through, and attention turns to the boat driver. “What about you? Can you take me back? This is ridiculous.” I don’t know who asked because the voice comes from deep in the crowd.
The driver shakes his head. “No can do. Little boat only holds four, and I’m all booked up for the return trip.”
“With whom?” that same voice calls.
“Not you,” the driver replies.
The crowd starts to disperse, though there are lots of grumbles and even a few threats of ‘we’ll see about that’, and the driver turns to Lorenzo with a smile.
“Chef! How you doing?”
Lorenzo holds a hand out and shakes with the boat driver. “Been better, Augie. Those seats aren’t for us, by any chance, are they?”
Augie holds up a finger to his lips. “Esmar says you’d best get your ass in the kitchen straight from the dock and that you owe him an entire dinner shift of pans.”
“Deal,” Lorenzo agrees easily. “Let’s go,” he says to me and Janey.
Augie helps Janey into the boat, and then Lorenzo jumps in before turning around to help me.
