The Hairstylist and the Don "I want you to come one hour earlier than we agreed," his cilent said "Why?" he asked "You know why," she said and he looked at the phone. He made a face and looked away. Den a wah she show him "I already told you I'm saving myself for marriage," he said A wah pop Wah him just say

"Move from in front a mi," I say. But it comes out softer. Weaker. More honest than I intended. I'd be on the first plane out of here tomorrow. Nothing that we've said in the past twenty minutes would matter once I am on that plane. We are tied to each other, and our pasts don't have to intertwine any more than they already have. He doesn't move. I step sideways. He mirrors me, like he's tethered to the same gravity. "Kymani-" "Selah" My name in his mouth feels like a dare. A part of me wants it to feel like a promise. I shake the thought. After what feels like a standoff written in the marrow between us, he finally exhales and steps back. Barely. But enough. I don't waste it. I slip from his hold, my heartbeat pounding in my throat, in my ears, in the soles of my feet as I bolt toward the door. I leave him there. Leave the house. Leave the heat still burning between us. And I run. Fast, desperate, the same way I did the first time I left this place. The same way I survived. I don't look back. Not at him. Not at the house. Not at the version of myself that's still trembling inside those walls. Not anymore.

This Is A Jamaican Book❤ start the first chapter to fine out. 😶🤷♀️ hey, my lovely Jamaicans plz try to read this book. I know you will like it. 💕