Page 16 of Father Figure

Fighting against the sun’s glare, I peeked up at him. “This place just makes you wanna quit life and be lazy every day.”

“Maybe someday,” he chuckled. “But I know one thing for sure.” He cradled my head in his big hands, his fingers sweeping over my temples in a gentle massage. “There’s no one I’d rather quit life with than you, little one.”

Little one. He’s always called me that, so why does it feel different this time?

“Are you ready to get out of here and go get stuffed with Fried Flying Fish and Cou-Cou?”

I sat up so quickly that I felt dizzy and splashed my feet one last time before putting my shoes back on. “Let’s go!”

“…And that’s when he said, ‘Because it’s Tuesday!’”

With his mouth full of fried fish, Cass laughed at my joke so hard that it dribbled down his chin onto his shirt. That just made both of us laugh even harder.

“This was delicious. I’m so glad you insisted we try it. I’m stuffed,” he complained, rubbing his flat, toned stomach. “Let’s go walk it off in the street market. We can hunt for the perfect piece of coral.”

This day—no, this entire trip—just kept getting better and better. Even with the guests and the boat and Sam, I felt like I had his undivided attention, and each minute that he gave me made me want another hour.

Cassidy Hart was becoming a habit I couldn’t break.

The market teemed with cruise ship passengers bustling around for a souvenir and a bargain. Cass bought me a rum cake, another stalk of sugarcane, a keychain that said, ‘I left my heart in Barbados,’ and finally, the most perfect piece of red coral. There was a vendor who sold nothing but coral and painted seashells and conchs. Most of it looked bleached and colorless, which happened after the coral died, but the red coral… It was out of this world!

“Cass,” I breathed in awe. “I’ve got to have that red coral.”

The vendor, an older man with beautiful dark skin and braids in his hair, the ends capped with tiny seashells, pointed to the prettiest piece. “It is said to guard against negative energies, like a talisman. It will protect you from harm, and the bearer shall have enhanced confidence and courage.”

“I’ll take it,” Cass insisted, unfolding a wad of money from his pocket. He didn’t even try to haggle with the man’s price. The man wrapped it carefully in paper and handed the bag to Cass, who, in turn, handed it to me. “I hope you always stay safe, and that you feel confident and courageous every single day.”

I didn’t need red coral for that. Cass made me feel confident and courageous, and, of course, he kept me safe. He was my talisman.

We continued walking, past stalls filled with exotic fruits and vegetables, T-shirts and tote bags, flip-flops, and people offering to braid your hair.

“Hold up, Nicky.”

Cass stopped at a booth of handmade jewelry. Earrings made of shells and tiny enamel starfish. Rings carved out of coral. Abalone hair combs. Did Cass have a woman in his life I didn’t know about?

“This one is perfect,” he declared, his fingers resting on a white puka shell necklace. He handed the man cash, and then carefully fastened the necklace around my neck. “This is for you.”

“For me?” I asked, touching the necklace.

Cass leaned in close, his words a soft whisper in my ear that sent shivers dancing down my spine. “All the boys on the island who like other boys wear these.”

For a moment, my heart stopped beating, and I felt hot all over. He pulled back and looked into my panic-stricken face. I grasped the bag in my arms tighter, clutching the red coral to my chest.

I am courageous. I am strong.

“I wanted to tell you, but I have to tell my father first.”

“And why haven’t you? Are you afraid of what he might say?”

“No,” I swallowed hard. “Maybe.”

“I promise you, Nicky, your father will be proud of you. He’s always proud of you. He loves you.”

“How did you know? Is it that obvious?”

Cass chuckled. “What makes you think your father doesn’t already know?”

Oh God. Did everyone know?

---