One secret. One Promise. Two hearts.
Ama promises to keep her muma's secret till she meets an American man she dubs as Mr. Gorgeous. When their hearts collide, the secret threatens to reveal itself.
Will the Jamaican heat scorch the love that coul...
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Preparing for dinner with Ama is making me a nervous wreck. I haven't gone on a date since being with Stella. Thinking of her makes my stomach churn. What did I miss? How did I not know her intention to leave me stranded like a fool at the altar? Shaking my head, I attempt to get Stella out of my mind.
Now Ama, she brings a smile to my face. I can't help myself around her. My mouth gravitates to her full lips whenever I'm close to her. My head is still spinning in disbelief that she said yes when I asked her to dinner. I'm happy she changed her mind about me.
When I'm ready for dinner, I walk to the lobby bar for a pre-dinner drink. At 7:00, I head out to the front of the hotel and see Ama's Volkswagen Beetle coming up the road. She parks her car, and my jaw drops when she exits the vehicle. She's walking up to me smiling, and I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful, and damn, that dress.
"Hey! Do you want to drive Gertrude?" she asks, holding out her keys to me.
"Gertrude?" I smirk at the cuteness of naming her Bug. "As much as I want to take Gertrude for a spin, we're walking to the restaurant. It's a little less than half a mile up the beach. The Woodstock Lobster Shack."
Her eyes light up. "I love that restaurant. Yes, walking would be best."
I offer her my hand, and she places her delicate hand on my palm, interlocking her fingers with mine. The warm sensation brings a smile to my face as we begin our walk to the restaurant; I feel like the luckiest man in Jamaica
"You look stunning tonight," I truthfully express my thoughts.
Her eyes sparkle brighter than the stars. "Thank you. You look pretty good yourself."
My smile broadens. "Thank you."
I squeeze her hand, and a grin spreads across her beautiful face.
Ten minutes later, we're at the restaurant. The two-story wooden structure has a palm branch thatch roof. It sits ocean-side with a large porch containing round tables. Picnic tables are scattered around the beach, 'Woodstock' painted with bright colors across the back of the benches. Egg-shaped wicker chairs swing by thick rope from the porch roof's beams. It captures the essence of Jamaica perfectly.
We sit on the porch to enjoy the breathtaking view of the orange, red, and yellow sunset, which is the perfect setting for a first date. The waitress stops to say hello to Ama before taking our order. After placing our drink and food orders, the reggae music plays the melody of the island.
The atmosphere is not nearly as stunning as the woman sitting before me. I place my hand over hers, needing to feel her skin next to mine. "So tell me about yourself, Ama. Did you grow up on the island?"
Her mouth curves into a smile. "Yes, I've lived in Negril my entire life."
"You don't seem to speak in the Jamaican lingo," I voice my observation.
