Blue: A Love Story on the Bermuda Shores

by Daya Daniels

  BLUE

  a

  Love Story

  on the

  Bermuda Shores

  By:

  DAYA DANIELS

  Chaplin Bay, Bermuda

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Quote

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright@ 2017 by Daya Daniels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or any other means without the explicit written permission of the author, except for brief quotations of the book when writing a spectacular review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and even facts are the product of the author’s imagination. Wait a minute...especially facts. Any resemblance to actual people – alive, dead, or someplace in between, is completely by chance and likely in your head.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Holy hell, this is important. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Let’s not forget! All song titles in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who has encouraged my writing.

  To my wonderful husband, I love you. Your support is priceless.

  Thank you to CMB, JT, my mother and Aunt L for reading everything I write. I couldn’t ask for better beta readers.

  You’re all fucking awesome!

  To all those long summer days spent on Black Bay being a “water rat” (Bermudian slang for: child that loves to be in the water) and jumping off the wharf at Messina House.

  PLAYLIST

  Lose It – Oh Wonder

  Drugs - EDEN

  Columbian Daughta – Uzimon

  Straight Up & Down – Bruno Mars

  I Found – Amber Run

  Vivir Mi Vida – Marc Anthony

  Over You - Rickai featuring Jelani

  Hot Hot Hot – Arrow

  Escucha Me – Gypsy Kings

  Holiday – Collie Buddz

  Wine Slow – Gyptian

  So Beautiful- Musiq Soulchild

  Weaker Girl – Banks

  Open - Rhye

  Like Me – Twanée

  Could You Be Loved – Bob Marley

  Dark Clouds- C’daynger

  Bernadette – The Four Tops

  Cherish The Day – Sade

  Bermudians Love to Drink - Bootsie

  Give It All To Me – Mavado

  To Me- Chet Faker

  Walking Higher – Heather Nova

  Bailando – Enrique Iglesias featuring Pitbull

  Summertime – DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince

  It’s Me Again Jah – Luciano

  ‘The greatest wealth is to live content with little.’

  -Plato

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cassandra

  It’s Friday – pay day. Only there’s nothing to be happy about. Sitting in my car, I sift through the cash in my hand, realizing that it only amounts to $213.21 for the week.

  One distinct thing about Bermuda’s currency, is that it’s pretty. So pretty, that you want to just take a picture of it. The two dollar bills are a vivid turquoise and light blue, combined with a picture of a bluebird on the front of it that just makes you smile. In my hand, I have a pile of them. In fact, they might all be two dollars bills but they amount to nothing.

  How could something so fucking sad, look so happy?

  The money I have now would have to work until Ambrose pays me, for the gig I have tomorrow. If not, I’ll have to dip into my savings that’s rapidly dwindling. What I hold in my hands is far different from the pay check I was used to getting. I should be accustomed to the change by now but I’m not. I was never one to chase money. Happiness, yes but money – not really.

  Since moving back in with my parents, a huge load was taken off me financially. I give them what I can and they never complain. They support my new career as a photographer, even though it might be foolish – a pipedream, as some others told me, when I resigned from being a barrister with the intention of leaving my law career behind for good. If this didn’t work out, I was certain I’d be on the back of the Hustle Truck soon, trying to make an honest living.

  Easing out of my car, I shut the door and inhale the salty breeze. The bank parking lot is only steps from the ocean. Everything on this island is only steps from the ocean. I grew up here on twenty-one square miles of raw beauty, separated by nine different parishes. I was raised in the west end of the island, which is where I live now.

  The ocean soothes me. It calms me. Even on days when the weather is bad – the ocean always did something to me. I run a hand through my hair that’s now varying shades of brown and take a seat on a sloping patch of grass. Just below me there’s a small beach. The water laps against the shoreline quietly. The noise of the cars and trucks that go by is loud but the only thing I hear is the sound of the ocean. A small hermit crab reveals itself and scurries along the pink sand to find a new rock to make its refuge in.

  I look up at all the boats that litter the Mangrove Bay, as they bob in the wind. The birds sing and I spot a few long tails flying overhead. It’s freakin’ beautiful here.

  It’s the first week of April and the weather is warming up. Soon, it will be too hot to even go outside, as some Bermudians say. I never followed the rules. I swam year-round, even when the water temperature dipped below fifty degrees. My avo called me “louco!”, which is Portuguese for “crazy”. I never listened to her. If I listened to every fucking thing I’d ever been told, I’d be suicidal.

  “Good morning, Cass!” Dippy shouts out, as he trudges by.

  It’s only nine a:m but I have no doubt that Dippy is heading in the direction of the liquor store on the corner. I wave a hand to say hello and shake my head. Then shift my attention back to the water and then up to sun in the sky, squinting my eyes from its blaze.

  I pull a small compact mirror from my pocket and flick it open. The reflection that bounces off it is still beautiful nonetheless, absent the daily librarian bun, face full of makeup, including the red lipstick I usually wore daily in my prior employed life. My skin is bare, except for some pink gloss I dabbed on my lips this morning. My brown eyes are clear and my long, wavy hair is out. People always described my features as unique. Sometimes, I was simply told I look strange. Often, I was mistaken for being Indian but I’m not. My father Joseph is Portuguese and my mother, Ayana is Trinidadian, with skin as black as tar, as she always proudly says.

  Joseph and Ayana loved me to death. I didn’t know what I’d do without them. I had a sister who was two years older than me. We were far different but we got along well enough.

  I didn’t have much going on in the love department since Rupert dumped me, immediately after I quit my job six months ago. I no longer fit into his “plan,” as he said. What he really meant was that I no longer fit in with his elitist bunch of asshole friends/colleagues and I was destined to be broke, with no promising future. I don’t miss Rupert much but I do sometimes. I loved him. I still love him but it wasn’t until we broke up that I realized he never loved me. He threw five years aw
ay because of status. A few months after our breakup became official, Rupert went back to England to take up a post in the Supreme Court there. Secretly, I hoped his Gulfstream G550 would crash, when I watched it take off from the L.F. Wade International Airport.

  I’m thirty years old, living with my parents in my twelve by twelve childhood bedroom and sleeping on a twin bed. I couldn’t have been happier.

  Nico

  I’ve been here for a month already. I don’t care where I am in the world - as long as I’m on the water, everything’s good. I’d be on this tiny island for a time undetermined. I was yet to review the list of responsibilities allocated to me that I didn’t care much for but this was my life...

  Last night before escaping land, I had made all the usual phone calls and check-ins. I’d phoned Aurelio a few times, who told me he was shitfaced at some bar, inside a hotel called The Reefs here. I hung up the phone, promising to catch up with him later. I’d no intention of speaking to him again until the end of the next week...maybe the next century, if I could help it.

  We left in the morning before the sun revealed itself and were now trolling on the west side of the island. We have one pick up to make at the Cambridge Road wharf, then we’re scheduled to head out to Challenger Banks, which is about twelve miles out.

  Tossing some fish heads overboard, I finish filleting the last of the wahoo we’d caught overnight. I give Ambrose a glance who steers the boat from the tuna tower. He gives me a wave and I nod in his direction.

  Ambrose is an old man but he’s one of the coolest guys I know here. He’s a local and has been a fisherman since he was a teenager, learning the trade from his father and uncle. Ambrose and I fished. We slept on this old boat Ambrose’s father named Reel Talk forty years ago. It’s thirty feet long, old and wooden but it works. We drank beer. He told me a story or two but mostly, we fished.

  Once I toss the last of the day’s catch into a bucket, I rinse it all off and wash down the back of the boat. I love the smell of fish. It’s a pungent reminder of what we spent most of the week doing. We’ve caught everything out here this week from simple snapper to game fish, like marlin and sail fish. It’s the catch that always keeps me on the water. I love the fight, which sometimes lasts for hours depending on the size of the fish and what it is. I would rather have broken my back then let a fish go and there were times I nearly had.

  “Nico!” Ambrose calls out from the tuna tower.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’ll be only be a two-minute stop.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I sing out.

  He slows the boat as we trudge through the inlet. It’s so fucking amazing here. The water is calm this morning and the air is warm. A few green turtles lift their heads above the surface. The birds sing as they dip and dance in the sky above and the sun peeks just over the horizon. I listen to the engines of the old fishing boat rumble and rattle when it slows down, as we get closer to the wharf. They sound like they’re in pain and close to shutting down.

  Ambrose really needs a new boat.

  I narrow my eyes when I see a small woman standing to the edge of it, holding a camera in her hands, with a bag slung over her left shoulder. I jerk back and for a moment, I can’t think. She gives Ambrose a wave. He hops off the boat and helps her on and I swear in those few seconds, I haven’t taken another breath. I brush my hands off on the rubber waders I’m wearing and wipe my face with a cloth. Ambrose is talking and laughing along with a soft voice that’s getting closer, doing the same. I scramble for my T-shirt but before I can reach it, Ambrose and the woman round the corner.

  Cassandra

  “Nico, this is Cassandra but everyone calls her Cass.” Ambrose introduces me, keeping a hand on my shoulder.

  The old man’s brown eyes smile as they dance between me and the beautiful, shirtless stranger.

  I’m positive that for a moment, I’ve forgotten how to speak English, or Portuguese or whatever fucking language I’m apparently fluent in.

  The gorgeous man in front of me only nods. Then he gives me a smile, white and beaming, that nearly melts me into the floor of the boat like hot butter. He’s tall and tanned with chestnut-colored hair that curls a little around his ears and neck. His eyes that are the color of expensive brandy are truly what capture me. A small dimple is in his left cheek and around two days of scruff covers his jawline. He smiles again and I must remind myself to blink. I will myself to look away but before I do, my eyes rove over his cut and carved bare chest and the beginnings of his sculpted abs that disappear somewhere down in the yellow waders he’s wearing along with rain boots. I didn’t think a man could look so hot covered in blood and fish guts, but this one does.

  “Hello, Nico.” I breathe out.

  “Cass, is joining us today to take a few photographs of the ocean as well as of the old piece of shit boat we’re on. I’m trying to sell it, as you know.” Ambrose smiles.

  He steps closer. “Hello, Cass.” He says with a subtle accent that caresses my ears. I don’t identify it but it’s smooth on his tongue. Hypnotizing. Exotic.

  “Nico, will be here for the summer, I believe. You can consider him my assistant.” Ambrose jokes giving me a wink, when he taps me on the shoulder. Then he leaves me standing there.

  Nico reaches for his T-shirt and turns away from me with the intention of putting it on. I’m still fixated on him. I cough nervously and spin around. The boat pulls away from the wharf and I’m jerked into the port side of it. I nearly fall, right before Nico scrambles over and catches me by the upper arm in his strong grip and pulls me against his firm chest. I lose the lingering aroma of the fish when my senses get wrapped up in the natural scent of his sweat. His skin is golden as though he lives under the sun and his muscular chest is covered by a light smattering of hair and ink. I allow my eyes to linger and then lazily crane my neck to look up, with parted lips while he looks down at me. He’s so close, I can feel the warm puffs of his breaths against my forehead. Then he let’s go, slowly.

  I shake my head, forcing myself to be in the fucking present.This is embarrassing! I feel like for a moment, I’ve fallen under some sort of spell.

  “I’m sorry.” He whispers.

  “It’s o-okay.” I say steadying myself.

  “Please take a seat here.” Nico suggests, extending his tatted-up arm and moved to clear some items out of a chair frantically.

  We rock and the engines sputter and roar to life as the old boat leisurely heads out of the inlet. The longtails above cry out and the damp air hits my skin. I shift to get more comfortable in the seat. Nico runs his hands over his head of thick hair. His muscles flex and bunch with the movement and I’m transfixed again. I clear my throat and cross my legs, shoving my shaky hands between my thighs, warming them.

  Nico laughs and mutters something to himself. He picks up a bucket that’s full of fish parts and blood and dumps it overboard. The birds above us go crazy and dip down to the water, feasting on the leftovers. The fish in the water splash, enjoying the same buffet.

  I take in the view of Watford Bridge in the distance as it looms between the Boaz Island and Somerset Island. The Dockyard on Ireland Island is in the distance to our left. It’s all so picturesque. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and open them again. I had so many memories of my father and I fishing just off this area. We’d fish in the rain, blow or shine. Nothing stopped Joseph from throwing a handline overboard and hooking our dinner for the night. It could’ve been mackerel, turbot, octopus or even garfish. It didn’t matter – we were eating it.

  Nico stands, still smiling and raises his arms to the sky. “All done.”

  It’s the second time I’ve picked up his accent. It’s subtle and sexy but I don’t identify it, so I’m intrigued. He’s still shirtless. Each time he looks away from me, I take the chance to gawk some more. Finally, he picks up his shirt. He pushes the straps of the waders that he’s wearing off his shoulders and slips it on.

  He’s covered in ink. I narrow my eyes trying to
make out the markings which aren’t what I’m typically used to seeing. A colorful labyrinth of writing and drawings cover his skin. I drop my gaze when I meet his golden eyes again and I know I’m caught, since he looks at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. I stare out at the blue ocean in the distance and listen to him let out another chuckle as he shuffles around the back of the boat.

  He begins to whistle, while he washes out a few buckets with soap and sea water. Occasionally, he looks at me and laughs. He’s carefree and sexy as hell and something tells me he knows it. He stands straight and lets out another deep breath, staring up at the sky. He wriggles out of the waders completely, which reveals that he’s only wearing a skimpy pair of swim trunks underneath. Usually, I would laugh if I caught a man wearing a pair of boxer brief Speedos, only there isn’t anything funny about this. It’s only mouthwatering and I worry I might be drooling at the sight in front of me of his muscular legs.

  Trouble. Trouble. Trouble.

  Quickly, he slips into a pair of cargo shorts that are riddled with stains and rips. He brushes his hands through his hair, walks across the back of the boat barefoot and leans against the side of it next to me. I shift to give him a once over, taking in his gorgeous smile.

  “Do you want some coffee?” He asks.

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  He disappears some place while I enjoy the amazing view. The sky is clear and the sun is out, turning everything warm. I run my hands over my arms, that are covered in goosebumps either from the damp air or the hottie I’d just met. I’m not sure which. I bite my lip and look around, as the island starts to disappear out of sight.

  A moment later, Nico reappears holding two steaming mugs of coffee. I finally get a good look at his large, beautiful hands. Everything about this man is different. I take the cup from him and blow the steam away, while he lingers next to me, drinking his own.