Time Taken
Part 2
Previous Instalments: Time Taken Series
The sterile white of the reception area hummed with the low thrum of fluorescent lights. He stepped inside; the automatic door sighed shut behind him and walked to the counter.
A small silver bell sat on its polished surface. He tapped it, the cheerful ‘ding’ echoing in the otherwise silent room. He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.
A moment later, a woman emerged from a door behind the counter. He was, admittedly, taken aback. It wasn’t anything immediately apparent, just… a striking presence. Brett swallowed; his throat suddenly dry, a warm, inviting smile and kind eyes, framed by a cascade of auburn curls that bounced with each step she took. And, yes, she was undeniably well-endowed. It wasn’t that he’d never seen a woman with large breasts before, but the sheer prominence, combined with her confident demeanour, caught him off guard.
Shirley smiled, a warm, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. It was a stark contrast to the somewhat dilapidated state of the bed and breakfast. “Of course, dear. We have a few vacancies. How long are you planning on staying?”
Brett hesitated. He had no plans, just a desperate hope that something would work out. “Ummm, a week,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too unsure. “Maybe longer”
Shirley raised a knowing eyebrow, but didn’t press him. “Alright then. Let me see… Room number three is available. It’s small, but clean. It also has a fan, which you’ll appreciate in this heat. She chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “It’s forty Barbadian dollars a night, breakfast included.”
Forty dollars. “Okay, that sounds good,” Brett said, relieved. “I’ll take it.”
Shirley rummaged under the counter and pulled out a registration form. “Alright, fill this out for me, and I’ll grab the key. You got any luggage?”
Brett nodded. “Just two bags. They’re outside.” He filled out the form quickly, trying to ignore the heat that was already making his forehead glisten. As he handed it back to Shirley, she was already fishing for the key.
“Room three is just up the stairs and on the left. If you need anything, please ring the bell. Breakfast is served between 7:00 and 9:00 in the dining room, through that door. She pointed to a doorway just past the reception desk.
“Thank you, Shirley,” Brett said, genuinely grateful for her kindness.
Shirley shouts for her husband, a small hen-pecked, balding man. They seem like an unlikely couple. Harald takes Brett’s luggage. Brett tells it is all right, and he can manage. Harald looks a little relieved, but shows Brett to his room.
“Thank you, sir, as he placed a tip in his hand.” The man smiled, raising his eyebrows. She’d moan if I hadn’t shown you to your room,” he said, making a hand move off her mouth with his fingers. “Yap, yap, yap,” Brett laughs and thanks Harald again.
Brett dropped his bags onto the bed and sat down. The dust motes danced in the afternoon sun slanting through the windows of the ‘Seabreeze Inn’ He’d been walking for hours, the relentless asphalt radiating heat even as the coastal wind whipped his hair across his face. The brochure he’d grabbed from a deserted tourist information kiosk had promised tranquillity, charm, and stunning ocean views.
He decided to take wandered through the market you could get about anything, from fruit and veg to hats and souvenirs; he made his way to get something to eat, then headed to the beach, where he notices a beach bar, Seashell Hut named for the fact it was on the beach this place was hip and happening, it was full of young holidaymakers Brett went and sat at the bar and ordered a lager he seemed to gather a large group of ladies trying to get up to dance. The boss, Davao, noticed how the ladies liked Brett and offered him a job on the spot. Brett couldn’t believe his luck and accepted
“I know this is short notice, but could you start now?”
“Sure”
“Great, well, sort everything else out tomorrow”
It was a busy night, to say the least, but Brett liked it; he seemed to get along famously with Davao and Camilo.
“Is this place buzzing like this every night?”
“Pretty much” States Davao
“Hay man, the chicks that come in here; wow, there one she lives here; she comes here most nights; you Wanna see her?”
Brett smiled, but honestly, he wasn’t interested in having a relationship. He had had his fill of women after the last one.
Two weeks later
Brett clicked the key in the lock of his new apartment. A wave of relief washed over him as he stepped inside, the scent of fresh paint a welcome change from the stale air of his previous temporary lodgings. It wasn’t much, but it was his. Finally, after weeks living out of a duffel bag, he had a place to call home.
The apartment was simple: a galley kitchen with surprisingly new appliances, a long, narrow bedroom just big enough for a bed and a dresser, and a small, functional bathroom. But the most important thing was its location. He could practically smell the salt air – the beach was a five-minute walk away.
He’d barely unpacked when the phone rang. It was Davao, the bar manager at Seashell Hut.” “Brett, can you cover Tony’s shift tonight? He’s got the flu.”
“Sure, Davao,” Brett replied, relief tinged with a bit of weariness. He needed the money, but he was already feeling the strain of juggling shifts. Still, he couldn’t complain. He practically leaped for joy. The tour guide job came up at the perfect time. He could also work the bar at night.
It would get him out in the sun, interacting with people, and he’d already started studying the island’s history and landmarks. He’d spent hours poring over guidebooks and maps, memorising dates, and familiarising himself with local legends. He found the history surprisingly engaging, the colourful tales of pirates and explorers igniting something within him.
He aced the interview, his natural charm and newfound knowledge impressing the hiring manager. He was in. Now he had two jobs. He’d be pulling double duty, but it was worth it.
Life settled into a rhythm. Mornings were dedicated to leading tours, his easy-going personality making him a hit with the tourists. He’d point out hidden waterfalls, spin tales of ancient battles, and answer questions with a patient smile. Evenings were spent behind the bar, mixing cocktails and enjoying the lively atmosphere.
Finding the balance was tricky. Sleep became a precious commodity. He learned to power nap on his lunch breaks and perfected the art of multitasking. Yet, despite the demanding schedule, a sense of contentment began to bloom inside him. He was building a life for himself.
And whenever he had a free moment, he’d head to the beach. The turquoise water beckoned him, promising solace and rejuvenation. He learned to surf, the feeling of
gliding across the waves a complete escape. He snorkelled, mesmerised by the vibrant coral reefs and the kaleidoscope of fish. He tanned under the tropical sun, his skin taking on a healthy, golden hue.
And he noticed, perhaps with a bit of inner satisfaction, that he was attracting attention. Women noticed him. It was hard not to. He was tall, with broad shoulders honed from surfing, and a jawline that looked as if a professional had sculpted it. His eyes, the colour of the sea after a storm, held a spark of adventure, and his smile was genuine and disarming. He had a physique that whispered of athleticism and good living, a body sculpted by the waves and the sun – a body for sin, some might whisper.
He wasn’t actively seeking anything, but he wasn’t blind either. He caught the glances, the lingering smiles, the subtle invitations. He was still figuring things out, still finding his feet, but he knew one thing for sure: he was finally where he was meant to be. He was home. And he was just getting started. The salty air, the warm sun, the steady rhythm of the waves – they were all calling him, promising a life filled with adventure.
This was his little piece of heaven. He loved it here. No one knew him or his past. He was enjoying life to the full. He wanted to have both jobs: a tour guide by day, slinging cocktails at the beach bar by night
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C. Langley
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