Page 44 of Promise Not To Fall

I admire his honesty. Most men would never admit to not having enough money for anything. “So it’s always been a family business, then?”

“Yep.” The food arrives, and the waiter places a small dish in the center of the table.

Jake reaches forward and hands me what looks to be a fried fritter. “Try this.”

I’m not sure I want to. “What is that?”

“Conch.” He smiles, the word rolling off his tongue, his accent evident. “Have you tried it yet?”

“No.” I take the fried fish in between my fingers and dip it in the small tray in the center of the plate. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Don’t,” he says, laughing,afterI put it in my mouth. “It probably tastes like a hobo’s nut sack.”

“Have you tried it?” I chew slowly, covering my mouth with my napkin. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

He watches me chew, his focus on my lips. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I’ve had more than I care to.” I want to spit it out. “Does it taste like a hobo’s nut sack?”

“I can’t remember the last time I let a hobo teabag me.” I start choking on my food as he continues to talk, undeterred. “But suppose if I had, I would remember.”

I laugh so hard I begin to hope some of these locals know the Heimlich maneuver because I’m sure as shit going to need it. My bout of hysteria gets Jake laughing, and then people begin to stare at us like we’re crazy.

“Do you ever get tired of this place?” I can’t imagine it, but I guess anywhere you live can soon be like back home—a place where you often wonder what it’s like to be someplace else.

“Sometimes.” His answer seems off, like he not willing to go into detail. “How do you like it so far?” After taking a slow drink of his beer, he then sets it down, leaning to the side in a relaxed manner. “Could you see yourself coming back?”

For you? Oh yeah.

“I definitely could. I’m not much into the whole resort lifestyle, but I do love the private beaches and the bars. I enjoy the silence. The laid-back atmosphere. The vacation. Everywhere I look, I see people relaxed and having the time of their lives. I don’t see stress. I see good.” I pause, meeting his eyes and hoping I’m not talking too much. “What about you? Do you like living here?”

“When you live in paradise, there’s always going to be that desire to be somewhere else. That’s part of being human.” Resting his elbows on the table, he leans in, his proximity to me slightly distracting, especially when I can smell how good he smells. “Say you live here all year long. You see the sun, the white sands, the gentle salty breeze, and you think to yourself, goddamn, this is fucking paradise, man. But then you’re hereeveryday, through the off-season and the winter, and it becomes normal. Something you see every day, and you lose a little appreciation for it. The newness is gone. You don’t really see it as paradise anymore. You get sick of that white fucking sand and the sun makes your eyes hurt. You start glaring at it, wishing for some fucking rain. You see it as home, a place you’re comfortable with. But then, let’s say you go to Miami to see friends, or to New York. And it rains. A lot. It’s fucking miserable. You come back, get through the storm, and you appreciate the sun and sand again.”

Did they make him in a dream machine? Holy shit. “I can see that.”

After a moment of silence, he asks, “What’s the deal with your mom?” and immediately I want the conversation changed.

Swirling the straw in my water, I don’t look at him. I can’t when my thoughts are on the car accident and the traffic I’d been stuck in. “She died,” I clip. “I told you that.”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean your apprehension about talking about her. Did something bad happen between you two?”

“We hadn’t talked in a while. I don’t… like to talk about her.”

“What’s the point of living if you shut everything and everyone out?” he asks, his voice softer, but it still doesn’t make me want to talk about her. I do realize how true his statement is and how much I don’t want it to be true. I hate living this way. So I tell Jake everything. I tell him about my mom and her accident. I tell him about my dad leaving and Justin. I tell him about all my past boyfriends and the few one-night stands. And finally, I explain why I wanted to get away and what led me to the bar.

Time passes in a blur, and before I know it, Island Boy knows my entire life story.

“You need to learn to let go and see the good in everything, City Girl. You keep thinking like that, and you’ll be six feet under and never have really lived your life. We’re all going to die someday. That doesn’t matter. What matters is making your time here worth it.”

Jake makes a lot of sense, even when he isn’t trying to. He’s almost poetic in the words he says and how he understands even the smallest of details. He knows how life works and how you should always strive to love unconditionally. I don’t know much about his past relationships, and he’s reluctant to talk about it, but I’m guessing he too has been burned in the past. I can see it in his eyes whenever the word girlfriend is brought up.

Wiping the condensation from my glass again, I glance up at Jake and motion toward the drink he ordered for me. “What is this stuff? It’s delicious.”

“Planter’s punch.”

“What’s in it?”

“Everybody has their own recipe for planter’s punch. I first had it when I was eleven.” He laughs, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s got lime juice, sugar, Vat 19, dasher cherry, and orange.”

I giggle, covering my mouth. “You’ve been drinking since you were eleven?”

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