Page 13 of Crossing the Line

She smiled. “I’m pretty sure that’s pregnant women. And before you ask, I’m not knocked up.”

I laughed. Then, my eyes landed on a stall where a woman was braiding a young girl’s hair. The older woman’s nimble fingers moved quickly through the dark locks, and she was about halfway through her braiding. She was talented, creating tight plaits with colorful beads on the ends that she’d already completed. As we moved closer, the scent of shea butter and coconut oil reached me, and there was a bowl of water next to the older woman, which she kept dipping her fingers in to dampen the girl’s hair.

She hummed as she braided, and the girl sat perfectly still while a complex pattern was worked into her scalp, and I had the feeling that she’d experienced this many times before. My eyes skimmed over the rest of the stall. There wasn’t much there, the experience of hair-braiding clearly the main draw to this particular part of the market. But then, my eyes locked onto a small table nearby.

I saw wooden combs and beads in metal tins. There were also flowers—so many that it took me a moment to realize they were shaped into crowns.

“Excuse me,” I called out to the older woman, and she paused in her work to look at me in surprise. She’d been so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t even notice us approaching.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there,” she said. Her accent was unlike any that I’d ever heard before, with elongated vowels and a soft ‘h.’ It was something unique to this island.

“What are you doing?” Leanne asked. “You want to get your hair braided?”

“No.” I pointed at the table. “But I’m curious if those are for sale.”

The woman heard what I said to Leanne and turned to the table. “You want a coronet?”

“Is that a flower crown?” I asked.

She nodded as she picked one up. It was beautiful, with dark vines woven with white jasmine and pink plumeria flowers. Hanging on the back of the crown were thin green stems with small leaves that were shaped like pearls. I could already imagine how great it would look on Leanne, and when I turned to her, I could see the happiness shining in her eyes. She brought her clasped hands to her lips and blinked rapidly.

“Oh my God, Kelsie. This is perfect! I didn’t think we’d find anything, but this might even be better than my lace veil. My wedding is saved.”

“Wedding?” The woman gave Leanne a warm smile. “Allow me to gift you this coronet, then.”

Leanne’s eyes went wide. “You don’t have to-”

But she was already handing it over while shaking her head. “No, no. I won’t accept payment. You take this, have a piece of the island with you when you get married.”

When she put it like that, it felt perfect. Leanne’s hands shook slightly as she took the crown from the woman, and I knew that this meant the world to her.

I was just glad that we’d found a solution to the problem. Leanne started talking to the woman about how she should style her hair for the ceremony, and I wandered to the next stall, where someone was selling what looked like handmade pottery. I picked up a mug, looking over the turquoise glaze.

“I have those available in other colors too,” a deep voice suddenly said from beside me, and I jolted, nearly dropping the mug.

The man who spoke was standing beside me and watching with a smile curving his lips as I placed a hand over my racing heart.

“Oh my God. You scared me,” I said.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Henry.” As he spoke, I realized that he had an English accent. The refined lilt of his voice was so different from the woman talking with Leanne, but his earlier comment and the fact that I could see fine, pale clay dust on his shirt made me think that he was a local, someone that ran this very stall.

“Uh, I’m Kelsie.” I set the mug down on the table with three nearly identical others. There was a matching teapot, so I figured it was a set. “Is this all your work?”

“Every piece.”

I looked around at the assortment of bowls, cups, and vases in just about every size and color I could imagine. “Very impressive. You must love this work.”

He grinned and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. “It’s interesting that you say that. Most people compliment my work, but no one ever sees the feeling that goes into it.”

I traced my finger over the rim of a vase in front of me. “Art is all about feeling, isn’t it?”

At that, his head tilted to the side, and his gaze lazily trailed down my body. My sundress was thin and revealed a lot of skin, perfect for this humid, tropical weather. As Henry openly checked me out, I was suddenly aware of just how much skin I was showing.

I didn’t mind his perusal, but I didn’t feel anything either. Not when the only person I wanted to look at me that way had called it a mistake. There was no rush of attraction on my end or desire to flirt, even when his eyes flicked back to mine, now a darker shade of hazel.

But there was no denying that I got a confidence boost in that moment. After Damien’s rejection, I needed that. It wasn’t about the potential of actually moving on from him. It was about the electric realization that there was still more to me than what Damien had thrown away.

“Did I hear you say that you’re here for a wedding?” he asked, looking toward where Leanne seemed to be saying goodbye to the woman that gave her the flower crown.