If you have read any of my other stories, you must be getting used to this disclaimer by now: this is a slow-burn, long-building, multi-part romance story. If you are looking for a quick fix, this isn't it. Full disclosure: there's no sex in this first part. This story is based on a particularly interesting chapter I was lucky enough to have in my life. Many of the experiences in it were had by me or those around me -- with some artistic licence, of course. It is very close to my heart and it was quite the emotional rollercoaster writing it. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts: leave a comment or drop me a message. I thank all of you who have done so in the past; it greatly inspires and motivates me. Special thanks go out to my wife and to my author friend Broken Spokes for reading this first and giving me their thoughts. And now, I'll leave you to it. Let me know when you resurface. Happy reading!
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January
Amy paid the petrol station attendant who had filled up her car and tipped the guy who had made a solid attempt at cleaning her windshield. The rag he'd used looked like it had seen better days, but had never seen a washing machine. She could see the streaks it had left. Yet, she had learned quickly, it was easier to give it a wipe with a clean cloth herself later than to chase him away and be the spoiled, rich expat who would deny a poor local a chance to earn his income.
She'd only been here for two weeks and had already seen how many of these improvised and self-created jobs there were: from the youngsters who packed your bags at the supermarkets and carried them to your car, to the endlessly enthusiastic people who tried to sell anything from cold drinks and newspapers to fresh fish - or at least, it was fresh to begin with - at the busy intersections, making full use of the time it took the traffic lights to turn. They all targeted the rich and privileged - at least in comparison - expats like herself and the tourists that flocked the island en masse
Of course, Amy had never considered herself rich or privileged before she came here. But it was blatantly obvious that anyone who took one look at her pale, fresh off the boat skin and heard her speak would think she was. Desperate to not be seen as such, she had tried at first to resist being 'served' by the petrol tank fillers and the grocery bag packers. It wasn't that she didn't want to pay, but she was perfectly capable of doing these things herself at home. She did not need the distinction between her and the locals highlighted, especially in such a skewed power balance. However, her sceptic attitude had changed when she'd learned from others how these people were not looking to scam and make a quick extra buck. For most of them, their livelihood depended on the tiny amounts each transaction yielded, without which their evening meals would be small to non-existent. So, still very fresh off the boat but learning to adapt quickly, she did as everyone else did, as was expected of her, even if it still made her feel uncomfortable.
If that was the only discomfort to be experienced within this opportunity of a lifetime, though, she'd take it with both hands. And she had: she'd been the first to put her name forward when the words 'we need one of our consultants to go to the Caribbean' were uttered. And why wouldn't she? She had no mortgage, no relationship, no children, and no pets. If she didn't grasp such opportunities now, then when? Her manager had been quite taken with the idea of her going. Amy assumed that this was because she was trusted not to lead the project astray, rather than that her manager was glad to be rid of her. He had excitedly outlined the project to her: help the local government digitise and optimise their tax system.
A local software company had been contracted to provide a new software system for the administration and the business analysis process had already started. However, there was a great deal of organisational change needed, which could only be done by really understanding the local organisation, processes, and work culture, and by getting everyone on the same page. According to her manager, with Amy's consulting experience, expertise in tax processes, and people skills, she'd be perfect for the job. Just like that, her application had practically been written for her and it had been smooth sailing. Two months later she'd put her stuff in storage and had boarded a plane. And the rest was history, as they said.
Amy smiled as she recalled how fast everything had gone and how strange it was to think that such a short time ago, she'd had no idea that this would be her new life for the next twelve months. One year on a Caribbean island with sunshine all year round; she felt like she was the luckiest person alive.
A sudden flash of white in her periphery shook her out of her reverie. She slammed on her brakes, just in time to avoid a collision with a beat-up, dirty, white pick-up truck, which had pulled out in front of her from out of nowhere. Amy cursed loudly and hit her horn. What was wrong with people? Clearly this person had not even looked before pulling out of what Amy now recognised as the exit of a local supermarket. And judging by the look of the truck, it wasn't the first time it had been in a fight with other cars either. Amy would prefer to keep the lease car they'd given her for the year in mint condition, although that was proving to be more challenging that she could ever have imagined.
Driving here was a bit of a free for all. There were probably regulations and speed limits, but they seemed to be regarded as guidelines, rather than rules. To be obeyed when convenient and ignored when desired. And of course, the main rule of thumb was the road hierarchy: the bigger your truck, the higher up in the hierarchy you were. Forget about pedestrians; they were anyone's game. And the fancier and newer your car, the less likely you were to want to damage it, so the easier you were to play chicken with. As clearly demonstrated by the rude pick-up truck driver in front of her.
Out of habit Amy made a mental note of the pick-up's license plate and characteristics. At least she'd recognise it if she ever encountered it again. The back of the pick-up was littered with stickers: the local airline, the local radio station, a rock band, advertisement for a brand of energy drinks, and of course the common 'Jesus loves you'. Either this person had eclectic interests, or the pick-up had had a few owners which had each put in their two cents. The back of the truck was filled with cooler boxes and large bags of dog food: at least a year's supply for a Saint Bernard. Maybe this was some sort of supplier? No one needed that much dog food, surely?
A caramel-skinned arm extended from the driver's window and waved, either apologetically or dismissively - more likely the latter - as the pick-up sped off in front of her.
"Yeah, you're welcome, idiot," Amy grumbled to herself, as she continued her own journey, hoping to make it home unscathed.
She had just pulled into the driveway of her apartment complex and closed the electric gate behind her, when her phone rang with a video call. Amy rushed to her apartment so that her phone could connect to the Wi-Fi. The mobile data connection would not be able to cope for very long.
"Heeeey Ames!" The excited voice came through her speaker just before the pixels arranged themselves to show her friend's smiling face.
"Hey Megs, how's it going?" Amy was glad to see her. They had been trying to arrange a catch-up for a while but the time difference and their working hours had made it difficult. "What time is it there? Are you not working tonight?"
"It's almost 8pm and I am indeed off tonight! First Saturday off in forever!"
Amy did the calculation quickly: five hours' time difference then. "So, are you going partying tonight then?" She asked her friend, already knowing the answer.
Megan laughed. "Oh hell yeah! You know me. The kettle is boiled. I've picked my movie. I've got my chocolate. Party time!" It looked like she was walking through the house, the background moving rapidly around her head. "And this one..." The camera angle changed to show another person removing a massive pair of headphones and looking up from an even more massive book. "... Is studying all night. So I'm a PhD widow, yet again."
Megan's voice was full of affection and so was the eye roll her girlfriend gave her in return. "I'm sorry, babe. Your life is so tough," Jordan said, before turning to face the camera. "Hey Amy, how's the Caribbean?"
