💫 And So the Story Continues…
This post picks up from where it all began—the night I boldly walked over to Mr. Digs and said hello. If you thought that was something, buckle up. This was our first real date... and it was nothing like I expected, but everything I didn’t know I needed.
One Sunday, after a guest had checked out of one of my villas, the cleaning crew failed to appear. It wasn’t an issue—I took it upon myself to handle things. I turned on a video from The Stoic Ranger on YouTube and got started. The routine of preparing the room felt like second nature to me.
To me, prepping a room is an artistic endeavor. It gives me the chance to let my thoughts flow, reorganize, and really breathe. I truly enjoy the process of refreshing a space, whether it means light cleaning or a complete transformation. That day, my objective was straightforward: to get the villa ready for the next guest's arrival.
Just before midday, my phone rang.
It was Mr. Digs—my latest chapter and someone who occupied more of my thoughts than I cared to admit. I knew why he was calling. The night before, I’d used him as a soft escape from game night, saying it would probably be boring and I might leave early to see him.
The truth? The evening was unexpectedly wild, especially when an old friend showed up. I stayed late. To be fair, I told Mr. Digs the truth. No games, just honesty: “I had so much fun that I forgot to come.”
During our call, he asked if I wanted to go see a live band later that night—one of those regular Sunday vibes at The Cliff Hanger, the same place where we first met. I said yes and added, “But you’re driving.”
We agreed I’d park at his place and we’d take his truck. I'd drive myself home after. Easy. Just like that, we had plans.
The day rolled on in its usual rhythm—one guest out, another scheduled to check in later. Their flight landed on time, but they were delayed, so I mentioned it to him while heading back toward the city. I still had dinner to cook and a whole transformation ahead of me.
He was calm and said not to rush—just come by around 7:30 PM.
“What should I wear?” I asked, half for fun, half for real input.
He tossed out a few suggestions, including something like what I wore the night we met. I landed on a long-sleeved denim top with matching shorts. Not too short, but short enough to hug the right places. Minimal makeup: full lashes, soft color on the lids, and my signature lipstick that shifts shade depending on how I wear it.
On the way to his place, I needed directions, so he sent me a Google Maps link with voice guidance. He was waiting at the gate, arms folded, flashing that quiet grin. This was my first visit to his home since we started talking.
He was still debating which shirt to wear, worried about the night breeze. I told him he looked great as is. Funny enough, we were both in denim—unintentionally coordinated. Cute.
The drive to the lime was smooth and full of chatter. We talked easily, drifting through topics—past relationships, transitions, frustrations. We were both fresh out of long-term situations, but instead of dragging old baggage around, we agreed to just enjoy the moment for what it was.
And that’s exactly what we did.
The lime was alive. The live band sent electricity through the night air—reggae, soca, calypso—we danced to all of it. He moved in sync with me, his hands teasing and grounding me at once. We didn’t need to speak. It was all in how he moved with me. By the time the band wrapped up their encore, I was completely melted into his energy.
On the drive back down the hill, hunger hit hard. We cruised toward the Boatyard district in search of food. A few kitchens had just closed, but a local pointed us to a nearby club with a late kitchen and a DJ still spinning.
Perfect.
We ordered burgers and drinks and settled at the bar. A few of his acquaintances stopped to chat while I drifted out to the balcony, closer to the music. Before long, he found me on the dance floor again. We moved like we had earlier—playful, intimate, completely locked into each other’s rhythm.
We danced like old friends and new lovers—laughing between beats, stealing glances, and never quite breaking that invisible thread tying us together.
When the burgers finally arrived, we devoured them like people who had danced for hours—because we had. They were hot, greasy, and absolutely perfect.
We stayed for a few more tracks, reluctant to let the night end. But eventually, it was time to head back.
It wasn’t the night I originally planned…
It was better.
Unexpected. Delicious.
Full of quiet sparks and easy magic.
The kind of night that sneaks up on you… and stays.
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