Dandelion

1. "A rustic cabin dotted the grassy hills ..."

"Dad, where are we?" AJ's son asked with a small pout on his lips.

Sighing heavily, Anthony turned to him and smiled. "We're in the São Tomé and Príncipe, in the Gulf of Guinea, off the western equatorial coast of Central Africa."

Worst decision of his life.

No, that was an exaggeration and AJ knew it. But, safe to say, it was one of the more depressing decisions he had made in his life. And it was no one's fault but his.

Ben, Anthony's cousin, placed his hand on his nephew's shoulders. "Your father here has been getting into so much trouble of late that I decided to drag him with me as I go scouting for one of the greatest artists to exist."

" What kind of artist?"

Anthony looked at his cousin with irritation. His eight-year-old son was one to ask too many questions and he was in no mood to answer any of them. Not when the weather in this foreign land was irritating him to the core.

He got on one knee. "Ben flew us over continents in pursuit of a woman who doesn't want him." Anthony ruffled his curly, brown hair with a smile. "You and I are going to help him get her and hopefully, find something fun to do in this godforsaken place."

Ben sighed. "It's a beautiful country."

Anthony got up and moved to the window. They were staying in the Bom Bom resort which was right next to the beach. There was nothing much to see if you looked past the front other than large trees and the clear blue water. No buildings in proximity and very few people on the small island. "Well, beauty is subjective."

Ben laughed. "If you weren't so hell-bent on ruining your image because of your anger, if you didn't pick up fights with every human being that said something that doesn't appease you then we wouldn't be here."

"I'm a pro boxer bro," Anthony shrugged. "It's what I do."

"You're gettin' way ahead of yourself," Ben said. "You got a call from God to do somethin' deeper bro you get what I'm saying? The callings where you make a difference but you're wasting your talent on anger. I'm trying to protect your image."

"Of course. I just didn't think it would entail you dragging me to some place in the middle of nowhere, out of my comfort zone, with no WiFi."

"There are plenty of women for you to indulge yourself in while we're here. Trust me, they are as beautiful as the landscape in this country," Ben said, deep in thought, as if he was reminiscing on a memory that was etched so deep in his mind.

"Like I said, beauty is subjective. Besides, I like women who have particular features."

"You mean someone who looks like Joe's mother?" Ben asked.

The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly.

"We aren't talking about Aubrey," Anthony answered harshly, before picking up his backpack and walking to the direction where his son had run off to.

Three hours after settling into a place Anthony wanted no part of, Ben convinced him to tag along while he went to visit the artist he had been obsessing over for the past year and a half.

Ben always insisted that she was a fascinating woman. Not only was she beautiful, but apparently with a brush in her hand, she was breathtaking.

Several years back, during his first visit to Sao Tome, Ben had come across one of her painting in a children's shelter that he had volunteered in and made it his mission to sign her.

The only thing was, the woman, whose name Anthony couldn't seem to recall for the life of him, wanted no part in showcasing her work in Ben's studio in Manchester.