Author's note: It has taken me over nine years to return to this story, though it's been on my mind so many times. First-person perspective is always such a departure for me that it leaves me feeling a little lost. Here's hoping I've found my way back without losing too much of the story. It's a little sappy, but it's honest sap. For those of you who need forewarning, there is toy usage toward the end of this chapter and the mildest of rougher play, so if that's not your thing, you might want to browse for other stories.
*****
The need for clothing and the limitations of time required that I leave Clare alone in her cabin while I returned to my own. My clothing clung to me, shirt still clammy from yesterday's heat, panties and shorts almost too damp to wear again. Not wishing to hold up my amazing new traveling companion, I hurried through my shower and quickly dressed. Rather than go for shorts again, I chose one of my sundresses, not entirely without ulterior motives. After all, they offer so much more access, among other things. Especially when I skipped the underthings.
I met up again with Clare near the gangplank. She was wearing a clinging dress of sky blue, and the large, floppy hat from the day before. It seemed hard to believe so little time had passed since yesterday morning. She waved to me as I watched her eyes travel my body from tip to toe, causing the tiniest stirring of butterflies in my stomach. Then she patted the small canvas bag at her hip. "I've got everything I need. Ready for a day in town?"
I laughed, nodded, and gestured with my camera bag, fighting a sheepish feeling at the back of my mind as I played the tourist. I felt so small next to Clare. So inexperienced. The greenest of green travelers. "I'm all set," is all I said, however. Hey, if I was green, I may as well find myself a tour guide, right? "I don't suppose coffee is somewhere on that list of assignments," I told her, trying one of the puppy-dog looks I'd seen just moments before on the face of a small child.
Clare laughed and merely reached for my hand, unapologetically twining her fingers through mine before turning to lead me away. We trailed down the gangplank with the meagre crowd of shipmates, and I got my first good look at the island. You could do a lot worse than the Bahamas, that's for sure. It was beautiful, alive with the sounds of voices, of the constant surf, of the engines of small cars as they puttered down the streets. Of... tourists.
My disappointment was gradual, but it must have shown on my face. Clare tightened her hand and led me off the main road. Within a minute, the bustling noises faded, and the few people who shared the narrow road with us were also on foot and had the look of natives. Just another workday for them.
After studying a few dusty street signs along the way, Clare seemed to find what she was looking for and turned left. A block farther brought us to a small, open-air bistro on the corner, bordered by a bakery on the side nearest us. The smell of baking bread mixed with freshly ground coffee brought a ready smile to my face as we walked into the bistro. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clare write something in a small wire-bound notebook, but she quickly put it back in her bag as an older man approached us.
"We are so busy today! But I will do my best to serve you," he told us in a drawling accent that sounded almost French. Clare laughed. As I looked around at the rest of the bistro, I could guess why. Aside from us, there were only two other people enjoying their morning coffee at a sidewalk table.
"We won't take much of your time," Clare assured him, sounding amused. She winked at me before walking toward a table along the other street. The first couple ignored us. Retired, I thought. Flew south for the winter, stayed forever. Not that I could have blamed them.
We ordered our coffee and pastries and settled in to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. It was quiet here. Peaceful. Clare bent over her notebook while I studied the street beside us, the narrow buildings lining it, the little brown birds that waited near our table, hoping for crumbs.
"This is amazing," I commented once my coffee was all but gone. Clare looked up, glanced down the street with a distracted look and nodded slightly.
"It is now, at least," she replied. I frowned, noting sarcasm in her voice. It wasn't obvious, but it was there. She shrugged, smiled, put away her notes. "Around noon, the tourists start to wake up again and flood the streets. By sunset, the snowbirds are in bed, and the revellers are out in full. Sir," she added as the server from earlier reappeared, "you open too early for this sleepy town."
It was his turn to laugh as he answered her with a shallow bow. "They miss the mornings. I miss their money. So it goes. Thank the Maker for weddings, or we would surely starve."
His sincerity made me frown slightly, but as I glanced through the door back into the bistro, I could see the cake being prepared back in the kitchen. "Oh, that looks amazing," I murmured, fingers reaching for a pastry that had already been reduced to crumbs. He seemed delighted and promised that, should I return, he would gladly share whatever was left.
After that, I kept quiet as he and Clare chatted. I was impressed with how she managed to get information out of him without being obvious about it. How long had the bistro been there? What sorts of things do they serve throughout the day? Are their supplies handled locally, or do they import? It didn't take long. She was soon thanking him for his hospitality and the excellent coffee. She left him a healthy tip, and we were soon on the street again.
"So, you really do this for a living?" I had to ask as I shyly slipped my hand into hers. I had no idea where we were walking, other than away from the water. There were a few more people on the streets now, and we all moved out of the way as trucks and cars made more of an appearance.
After one of the older delivery trucks passed, its rusting hull seemingly held together by wire, Clare looked at me, her expression a curious mixture I couldn't quite place. I didn't understand then why she was so hesitant to answer, but she finally did with a simple, "Yes." It had that weight of carrying more, but she left the rest where it was.
I didn't press. Was I curious? Of course. But then, everything about this woman seemed to make me curious. The hesitation did make me worry, however, and when the next automobile approached, its tinny horn squawking at us, I let my hand slip from hers as we moved out of the way. My footsteps slowed to a stop, and a beat later, so did Clare's, her eyes seeking mine.
I used the excuse of the closed shop next to us, avoiding her gaze as I studied the painted ceramics in the window. How to even begin to explain? We had only just met. Was she supposed to pour out her life's history and background? She must have once again sensed my thoughts, however, because I could see her reflection in the window as she drew nearer, saw her hand rise before I felt it caress my bare shoulder.
When I turned to her, she smiled weakly, and her hand squeezed my arm. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but my own weak smile cut her off as I patted her hand, then gestured for us to continue walking. I would love to say it was because I was feeling strong, but the truth was it was easier to say how I felt when I didn't have to meet her gaze.
"It's a small, sad irony," I explained quietly, "that I have so many trust issues of my own, but I still feel hurt when someone else doesn't trust me. I didn't mean to push that onto you, though."
Clare's steps faltered for just a beat, but she was soon right beside me again, her hand gripping mine hard enough that I stopped to look at her again. Up until then, I had only known the fun and confident side of Clare. I was entirely caught off-guard by her distressed expression.