6: Mr. Dapper

"Debby, this is madness. We don't know him," Tasha muttered under her breath as she watched her cousin lead the white man across the plaza like a policewoman on patrol.

"Madness?" Debby spun around dramatically, nearly knocking over a basket of bananas. "Tasha, this is called reparations. Man was creeping, now him treating."

Christopher looked more amused than alarmed as he followed the two girls toward KFC. His camera swung from his neck like a third wheel, and the heat bounced off the pavement in shimmering waves.

They ordered a bucket of chicken, three large fries, two coleslaws, and Debby threw in a corn-on-the-cob just to be petty.

"I hope your American dollars stretch far, mi bwoy," Debby told Christopher, flinging a chicken wing into her mouth. "Because mi appetite strong like Samson," she added, smacking him with the chicken bone as soon as she cleaned it of the meat.

Christopher chuckled, licking barbecue sauce off his thumb. "I've had worse welcome parties. At least no one's thrown rocks."

"Yet," Debby said, narrowing her eyes playfully. "But the day is young."

Tasha stayed quiet, her eyes occasionally flitting to the man beside her. Now that he wasn't getting slipper-lashed in public, she could really see him. His beard was neat, jaw strong, and his eyes... annoyingly hypnotic. They were calm yet intense like the sea before a storm.

He caught her staring and smiled. She immediately busied herself with her chicken leg.

"So, where are you staying?" Debby asked through a mouthful of fries.

"A villa near the river. Quiet spot. Good light for photography."

"Photography?" Tasha finally spoke.

"Yeah," Christopher said, eyes crinkling. "Landscape, street life, people... moments. I'm actually doing a photo book on island culture." He quickly snapped a photo of Debby.

"You picked the right cousin," Debby cut in, motioning to herself. "Mi vibrant like paint. Hold on, mi never ready," she said, wiping ketchup off her chin with a napkin. "Come now, take mi picture."

He laughed as he lifted the camera and took around a dozen shots of Debby. "I agree, you're very vibrant."

After demolishing the food like two hurricane survivors, Debby wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked up at the sky.

"Give thanks and praises," she declared, loosening her belt. Christopher noticed and smiled to himself. This girl was refreshing. He liked that she wasn't afraid to do or say anything. "And the sun wicked today. Yuh got a ride, Mr. Photographer?"

"Yeah, my Rover's parked next to the gas station," he said casually.

"What kind of Rover, sir? Rover dog or Range Rover?" Debby's eyes widened.

"Range Rover," he answered.

"RAHTID. Tasha, we getting A/C today!"

"Wait, no," Tasha started, but Debby was already up, dragging her toward the parking lot next to the gas station across the road.

The Range Rover gleamed under the sun like something out of a music video. Tasha was opening the back door when Debby grabbed her elbow and yanked her aside.

"Uh uh. Go sit in the front next to Mr. Dapper."

"No," Tasha whispered harshly. "Mi good back here."

"Look how the bwoy nice! Stop act like yuh is a fool and jump up on the front seat."

"Why don't you go sit in the front?"

"You know mi don't have front appearance!" Debby barked.

Tasha stared. "That’s a lie.”

"My face built for commentary, not romance. Go on, before mi change mi mind and jump in his lap."

Seeing she was going to lose this ridiculous argument, Tasha sighed in defeat and slid into the passenger seat, arms folded like a sulky child.

Christopher glanced at her with a grin. "Glad to have you up here."

"I was forced," she muttered.

The drive back was smooth. Cool air filled the cabin, and Bob Marley played softly through the speakers. Debby sang along in the backseat, off-key but enthusiastic, occasionally shouting, "Mi love dis part!"

As they pulled into the driveway, Debby unbuckled her seatbelt like a woman on a mission. She turned to Tasha and winked.

"Y'all chat. I want to peepee." Then she dashed off so fast she ran out of her slipper.

Tasha opened her mouth to protest, but the door slammed shut before she could say a word.

Christopher looked amused. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like... a sitcom wrapped in a firecracker?"

Tasha laughed. "All her life."

They stood outside by the hibiscus bush, enjoying the shade the mango tree provided. Christopher's hands were in his pockets, his stance relaxed. "I hope I didn't cause too much trouble earlier."

"No," she said softly. "Debby's dramatic, but she means well. She’s only two years older than me so she’s very protective of me. Like a big sister."

"I gathered that."

There was a small pause, not awkward, just still. The breeze picked up and played with her curls.

"You're not like the people I usually photograph," he said after a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't pose. You don't perform. You just are."

She blinked. "Well... thank you? I think?"

"It's a compliment. Sometimes realness is the most beautiful thing."

She looked away, cheeks warming.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Debby was on her knees on the settee like a sniper, one eye pressed to the curtain's edge. She watched the two of them standing beneath the mango tree, the sun casting dappled shadows across their faces.

"Lord," she muttered. "This is a Hallmark movie in di making."

Tasha laughed at something Christopher said and gently touched his arm. Debby gasped.

"Look how Goodie feeling up di man. That's third base behaviour!" (Look how she’s touching his muscles.)

She narrowed her eyes and glanced at her own reflection in the glass. Her lips twisted.

Debby never really saw herself as beautiful. While Tasha had that light skin, mixed island-girl glow, like beach and breeze had kissed her into being, plus she also had that waist-length mermaid curls down her back that the men loved. Her other cousin, Kerry, had that deep chocolate coated skin, legs for days, and an ass that could derail a pastor's sermon, that the men go crazy for.

And her? She was just... Debby. Pancake-Batty Debby. Shape-Bad Debby. The funny one. The clown. The girl who made people laugh and kept getting told, "Debby, you’re a nice girl, but..."

She looked down at her little twist-up hair and sighed. After 23 years, not even castor oil could help. Her hair still acted like she owed it money.

The last man she gave the goods to had said she was funny... but he thought they’d be better as friends.

She straightened up quickly when she saw Tasha turning toward the door.

Christopher glanced at the window, and his eyes locked right where Debby's had been.

Her whole soul jumped.

He SMIRKED.

Then waved.

"JESUS!" Debby threw herself to the floor like a soldier dodging enemy fire. She rolled across the carpet and ducked behind the coffee table, her heart racing like the horses at Sabina Park.

Tasha walked in just as Debby scrambled to her feet, dusting off her knees like nothing had happened.

"Your sin finally biting you," Tasha said, tossing her keys on the table.

Debby clutched her chest dramatically. "The boy see mi." (He saw me.)

"I know."

"Mi wah dead." (I just wanna die.)

"Then who's stopping you?"

Debby pouted. "So what you and Mr. Dapper talked about? Mi saw y'all vibing like two people in a slow jam."

"Debby, stop."

"Mi just saying. The vibes thick like bulk syrup."

"We just talked. Friendly talk."

Debby paused, then squinted.

Tasha walked past her and into the kitchen.

"Gal!" Debby followed. "Don't leave mi hanging like dis!"

From outside, Christopher could still hear Debby's voice floating through the windows.

He smiled to himself and walked back toward his vehicle, the scent of fried chicken still clinging to his shirt and the sound of laughter lingering in the air like music.

He blushed when he thought about Debby trying to set him up on Tasha by getting her to sit in the front seat next to him. If only that girl knew he only had eyes for her.