Peeling Back the Top Layer 🇯🇲

34| Blast from the past

Chaunard arrives promptly at 5:00 pm but it takes an additional 15 minutes to wrap up my few unfinished tasks. Outside, he strolls back and forth under the canopy of trees near the perimeter, talking on his phone. His fitted jeans hug his long legs perfectly, showing off the gentle curve in them as he moves around with athletic grace.

When he sees me, his eyes widen and the smile touching the corner of his lips brightens his whole face exponentially. His movement halts, and he turns to face me.

Both rooted in position, we stare at each other for a moment. As I look at him carrying on with his phone conversation, I'm reminded of the first time I saw him and thought he could pass for a thug. Surprisingly, he no longer looks like that. He traded in that look for a more refined, put-together appearance when he cut his hair for the charity event.

"Ready?" He ends his call and takes a few steps closer, reducing the gap between us.

"The car battery is in my office," I tell him just as his hands find my waist.

"I forgot that. Come let me get it," he replies, leading the way into the building with me closely following with directions.

"My neighbor SherryAnn (@sherryann855) says she's gonna call the police on us because we make too much noise," I share with him when we are back at the car.

He belts out a good-natured laugh. "She can come see fi herself enuh. She nuh need nuh police."

"I wonder why you woulda waan perplex di woman."

"So she can know wah cause di noise," he grins.

He fires up the engine and Masicka's Image blares through the speakers but he quickly shuts off the music, earning my instant protest. "Why yuh do dat? Put it back on!"

"Sorry... Mi never know yuh woulda waa hear dat," he raises his hands in defeat.

"Well now you know," I tell him. "Mi love Masicka."

His eyebrows shot up and he gives me a side glance but says nothing. There's no more talking between us as his selection of dancehall songs play one after the other while he navigates peak-hour traffic.

Based on the direction in which he's heading, we aren't going home. I'm curious but I ask no questions. We end up at a contemporary restaurant just outside the heart of Kingston.

"We're just having dinner. Nuh worry yuhself," he says when he notices me eyeing him quizzically.

Our waitress — a short, busty young woman with long, thick lashes that scream Cookie Monster — gives off a bad vibe from the start. It's a pity that her freshly-styled lace wig and makeup heavily coating her face cannot cover up her sour attitude.

She introduces herself as Trishawna and quickly seats us, eyeing Chaunard and lingering a little too close for comfort even though he barely looks at her.

"Di waitress have a thing fi yuh man," I remark when she leaves to get us the menu. He brushes my comment aside with a dismissive shrug like he was oblivious to her wiles, choosing instead to bring up his phone call from earlier.

"My mother called when I came to pick you up and she gimmi a fine piece a cussing," he says, scrolling through the phone he pulls from his pocket while Trishawna hands us the menu.

"For what?"

He hands over the phone with a short clip from when he kissed me in the parking lot at work when he dropped me off earlier. The video was captured by someone standing at the entrance of the building. It doesn't show either of our faces but we can be easily identified by someone who knows us.