Honey Smiles // Harry Styles Series #3 - Jamaica

Port Antonio 5

Three days later my phone buzzed as I was walking through the market in Port Antonio. It was a text from Honey Smiles.

"too late for this evening?"

"perfect timing - at market now – food requirements/preferences?"

"no meat prefer seafood no olives or beetroot"

"ok see you at 7?"

"be there"

I picked up some white fish and veggies, and stopped for a bottle of white on my way home. Most of the locals were used to seeing me on DQ, but there were always a few surprised looks as I putted along. I always had a smile for the ones who pointed and waved.

I sang as I worked in the kitchen, peeling and chopping vegetables to add to the steamed fish seasoned with thyme and garlic. Buying bammy bread to accompany the fish would have been easier, but I've always been proud of my cooking skills, so I made it from scratch. It would be a simple meal, but tasty.

By six thirty the bread was just out of the oven and the fish slowly simmering. I slipped on a blush pink linen shift dress that made my tan look deeper, my eyes more blue, and the deep magenta highlights in my black hair pop. I felt pretty for the first time since Santorini.

George dropped Harry off and said he'd be waiting for the call to come get him. I could see him looking with a skeptical eye at DQ, who was tucked away in her lean-to.

I smiled at the bear of a man, "I can bring Harry back to Geejam. She's built for two, and I have an extra helmet. It's one mile, if that. I'll get him safely home."

Harry could see that the guard was torn between the thought of an evening off-duty and concern for his safety.

"George, take the evening. Have a beer. Have two. I trust Caroline and her... DQ, is it?" I nodded, George nodded, and he drove away.

I poured rum cocktails, and we sat on the terrace.

"Am I allowed to ask how work is going?"

He chuckled. "You can ask. I might not give much of an answer. Some days it flows and others it's all jammed up. I feel sad a lot. It's been a funny year or two. The band. Some... relationships. I can't really talk about it. I don't really want to right now."

His voice was soft and uncertain, his mind obviously miles away. I let him sip his drink in silence. There were things I didn't want to, couldn't, talk about as well.

Several minutes had gone by when he suddenly looked over at me.

"Caroline? Do you have paper and pencil I could use? And somewhere I could sit alone for a bit?"

I showed him to the small desk in the bedroom and left him there, wondering what had inspired him, what words flowed onto that paper as I finished setting the terrace table and put the finishing touches on dinner. Once or twice I heard him talking, or was it singing? I couldn't tell and I wasn't going to stand outside the door to find out.

"Is dinner cold?"

I jumped in my chaise, spilling a bit of my cocktail on the brightly patterned upholstery.

"Let me get that." He had a napkin in his hand and was kneeling beside me in a split second. "I'm so sorry. About startling you, and about disappearing. Sometimes I really need to get it on paper before it's gone. Forgive me?"

"Of course. It's why you're here. Well, not here for dinner, but you know what I mean. Speaking of dinner, it is most definitely not cold and if you'd like some, we should eat."

He loved the steamed fish and bammy, and the wine was perfectly paired. By the time we had finished the coconut ghribas, sweet confections I'd learned to make at a cooking lesson in Morocco, the wine was gone and I was feeling its effects.