Page 85 of Promise Not To Fall

1 oz.Bacardi® light rum

1 oz.coconut rum

2 oz.pineapple juice

2 oz.orange juice

1 dashgrenadine syrup

Fill a hurricane glass with crushed (or cubed) ice. Add ingredients and stir. Garnish with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry and serve. Frozen pineapple/orange concentrate made into juice can conveniently be used as a substitute for both juices combined.

When I arrive in the Bahamas again, I’m breathing deeper, taking in everything I’d missed before reveling in the fact that this place would be my home now. I won’t be City Girl. I will be Island Girl.

Hurricane season in the Bahamas is usually said to be fairly calm. That is, until I decide to move there. Then a hurricane hits and it’s like, welcome to fucking paradise, Kendall.

I land just in time, with only a suitcase and the clothes I’m wearing. The rest of my stuff is being shipped over, and I have a feeling it might not ever make it. The city’s shut down, pounding raindrops and a howling wind announcing the storm’s arrival. A taxi takes me to my apartment I rented about a mile from Jake’s house, only my apartment has views of the ocean. A stormy ocean.

I immediately think of Jake when I look at the angry waters. Actually, he’s on my mind the entire time. I wonder what he’s doing, if anyone is with him, if he wants to see me. I want to hear his voice, smell the sun on his skin, and feel his touch.

Then I think,Oh God, what if he doesn’t want to see me?

We haven’t actually spoken since I left. A handful of text messages have been exchanged, some flirty, some just friendly, some pictures of what I love about the island, even one of my pet grouper. Probably not the same little dude I wanted to kidnap, but still. He’d been thinking of me. He even sent a picture at sundown from our part of the beach, between Atlantis and the bar, with the words:Thinking of you.

To me that meant he still cares, right?

Sighing, I stare into the darkness of the room. There’s no power anywhere on the island. Looking at the empty apartment and the windows boarded up for the storm, I get scared, and decide I will go seek refuge in the only place on the island I know.

Jake’s house.

I’m just going to throw this out there now. Don’t walk around town when a category 4 hurricane makes landfall. It’s a very bad idea.

This is crazy. What was I thinking?

I knew when I opened the door and stepped outside it was a bad idea, but my head and heart knew exactly where I was heading. The only problem is my body is trying to tell me how utterly insane this is for attempting it. The wind moves in gusts, one right after another. It’s like the sandstorms back home, but with a wall of water to blind you.

The rain comes in sheets, drenching you to the core. Within a second, my T-shirt and jeans are glued to my skin. Each step is heavy, and more than once I have to grab onto something when the wind gusts. Palm trees and street signs are bent in the direction of the wind, never receiving a chance at relief. Some break, while others hang on.

Stopping every few feet, I wipe my face down, attempting to see where I’m going, but it’s useless. It’s like trying to keep your eyes open with a pressure washer spraying in your face.

The whistling and howling of the wind makes it so I can’t hear anything. Every once in a while, the wind shifts and I get a second where I can see in front of me, only to be slapped in the face by another gust immediately afterward.

At some point, with a half mile to go, I actually think about turning around. But I’ve come this far, and for a girl like me, there’s no way I’m going back now.

And I make it to his house, holding onto the wood pillar on the porch to keep from blowing away. All the windows in his house are boarded up.

“Jake!” I scream over the wind, pounding my fist against the door, praying this is still his house. If not, I’m going in anyway. Hurricanes are ridiculous. “For the love of God, open your fucking door!”

I keep pounding my fist on it, and then suddenly, after what seems like for fucking ever, the door opens and Jake’s standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs with a beer in his hand. I stare at him, my heart fluttering into my throat. He looks the same: tanned skin and sky blue eyes shadowed by thick black eyelashes that curl better than mine do.

But something seems different about him. I can’t place it, but something is different. “Why are you naked?” I shake my head roughly and wipe off my face as another gust of wind hits me.

He looks down at his boxers and then back up at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or if he’s dreaming. Neither one of us move.

Clearing his throat, Jake swallows, snapping himself from his trance. His voice is quiet, shattering the silence between us. “I’m not. Why are you wet?”

“Hurricane.” I shrug, pushing my wet hair from my face, trying to appear calm and collected. Another gust of wind slaps me, tangling more of my hair. It’s useless. “Don’t be rude. Invite me in.”

Chuckling, Jake swings the door open wider. “What are you doing here?”

---